The Haunting Place
by Citadel
Summary: Reloaded & Censored' The ghost of the great Captain Romulus holds the secret to a legendary treasure and Captain Jack Sparrow must recruit a medium to help him find it, but she's less then willing to help. Chapter Twenty-nine: Cacho!
1. London

The Haunting Place

**Important Author's Note:** The Haunting Place has returned censored and semi-clean. I still defend my writing; no one can convince me that I'm any worse then Danielle Steel and her stuff is available in the public library for crying outloud! (I'm ranting, I'm sorry, I know it's childish of me and don't get me wrong, I still have a lot of respect for and appreciate everything the mods do) I've decided to repost on because I have so many readers here and let's face it, the Story and Author Alert options kick ass!

**Important Censor Note: **However, I will not change one page of my plot line for anyone, so this is what I'm gonna do: The explicit chapters in which _actual _sexual contact occurs will simply consist of a brief summary of the chapter's plotline and a chapter teaser. Those who wish to read those chapters should visit www. mystifyingdreams .com or www. adultfanfiction .net (I'm not saying these sites are any better then they're just different and variety is the spice of life) Keep in mind, the Haunting Place is still rated a strong R even with the deleted chapters.

Warning: Mature themes, bad language, and drug use…why do I even bother with a warning when the people who should read it never do?

Disclaimer: I don't own, you don't sue.

Note: If you want Shakespeare, go to the library! If you want a fun and entertaining piece of fanfiction, take any spelling and grammar errors with a grain of salt and relax! This is a hobby for me not a living, so there will be mistakes. I promise to try my damnedest to keep such mishaps to a minimum.

_Chapter One: London_

The girl quivered under the amused scrutiny of the dozen nobles that lounged before her. Their upturned noses seemed grotesquely enlarged as they peered down their nostrils at her. Every now and then, one would lean into another and whisper, why they bothered to quiet their voices was beyond her, their hushed comments on her clothing and her father's hygiene carried through the room as loud as a shout, always followed by deep chuckles and piercing giggles. She blushed in embarrassment, while her father's always questionable sobriety didn't help matters much.

'Why did'n I wash me face before I come?' she wondered to herself. 'I know very wells how theses posh parties go. Ah bloody hell! Why did'n I patch this hole in me dress yesterday? Now them hobnobs all staring at me like an animal that don't know no better.' She idly picked at the offending tear in her wool worn skirt, wishing for the umpteenth time that Kristy would hurry back.

Vaguely she became aware of her father, slurring his way through his familiar speech meant to present her as the ninth wonder of the world. Instead it sounded pathetic and fraudulent coming from his painfully rehearsed projection, "Even de all mighty Church o' de Lord hiself closed deir doors to her, humbl'd and frighten'd by her powers of de beyond dhey were. And now I begs to present, de legendary medium whom have astound'd kings and bishops, known droughout all of Europe as de seer o' seers-," the lord of the house and host of the party, gave an exaggerated yawn, which the others chortled at. Only his wife, a grand lady who always seemed to be smiling but never with her eyes, had the decency to look ashamed.

Granted, her father was, in all truth, exaggerating. The church didn't really turn her away, Father Whitmere only told them he could not accept tithing money that paid for communication with the dead, which the Bible said was witchcraft. He was nice about it at least, still welcoming them to Mass every Sunday. She'd never met kings or bishops. And she wasn't famous throughout Europe, just through the lower-east side of London, but her father insisted with pride and liquor in his eyes that she was getting there. Everyone who witnessed her abilities agreed she was the genuine thing, a true medium.

The sudden silence in the room awakened her from her musings. The gentles were glaring at her expectantly. A tinge of panic, which must have shown upon her face because more of those cursed giggles wafted towards her, surged her into action. 'Kristy?' she spoke in a voice that did not come from her mouth, 'Kristy, where ye be? Ye got anything for me?' On the plains in which the girl was listening, Kristy did not respond…but there was another.

In a meek voice, she turned her large eyes to the hostess and said, "M'lady, your brother wishes to speak to ye."

The lady became visibly shaken and paled, that queer smile that never touched her eyes disappeared. Others began to whisper anxiously, this time taking care to mask their voices from the strange child before them.

Still, the lord scoffed, "Ridiculous!" he leaned over to his wife, patting her hand impersonally, "Everyone knows your dear brother's missing, they've probably bribed the servants for details to fool you." Her father ground his yellow teeth, attempting to look humbly innocent rather than righteously insulted.

A maddening well of frustration bubbled in the girl, she hated these types. So smart, so self-assured, so bloody blind to the world around them. She decided, perhaps foolishly, to continue without the safety of Kristy. Anything to wipe that pompous smirk off the gentleman's face.

Her mind opened over the house and spread over the grounds. At first, she only felt the feelings and emotions of those living in this vast manor. The bitterness turned everything grey and there was so much pitiful regret that that the lines of life began to blur. Greed as yellow as gold turned to bile in her mouth and in every doorway fantastic promises of lustful earthly pleasures tickled her sensitive ears. But as underlying as it was prominent, was sadness, and the girl knew it didn't take a physic of her caliber to surmise that this heartache belonged to the distant lady before her.

Yet, all these emotions remained below her expanding consciousness. She could easily keep them at a distant, examining them at her leisure. However, there was a more pressing matter to explore, a voice called to her from the horizon becoming evermore insistent. She would have to take a closer look.

To anyone who inquired, she could never explain the exact happenings of her gift to her satisfaction. Like now, in the extravagant sitting room of a powerful lord in his London winter home, a part of her stood, breathing deeply and seeing the transfixed gazes of those around her, she even felt the all too common pang of hunger, reminding her that breakfast had been a very long time ago and pitifully small. And then there was the part of her that was weightless and soaring upwards, through the five floors of the manor, straight through the roof, and into the vast night sky, clouded but bright with moonlight. The girl stayed chilled in the air, admiring the view for a brief moment, before laying her mind downwards, letting herself be pulled faster and faster, until a dizziness told her she was falling straight towards a nearby lake, made black by night…the haunting place.

The side of her that remained in the sitting room closed her eyes and welcomed _it_ to spill forth…

"He was a right terror to ye when ye was children, teas'd ye without mercy he did. He was jealous of ye, bein' the baby o' the family and all. Did'n think he cared a lick for ye, did ye? 'Til that winter that is. Ye was nine at the time, he was twelve. Sick something awful, ye were in bed with fever for weeks. The doctors came, told yer momma and papa ye'd never see spring, be dead in a month. Ye pretend'd sleep, when ye brother came to yer bedside. He cried, how scar'd he was! Never thought he'd be weepin' for the likes o' ye, but that night was the first time he ever said he lov'd ye, called ye 'his wee sis' and kiss'd ye on the head. Every mornin' after, he would seek violets on the moors and brin' them to yer room til' ye was well."

The girl opened her eyes and waited for the haziness to fade.

"No one knew," the lady's voice was cracked as tears brimmed, "We were alone, everyone had been sent away so I could rest. No one knew what he said to me…" Only now did the spectators really begin to believe. Those in the back rose in their seats for a better look, the women's eyes widened like dolls. Upon their faces, looks akin to amazement and fear. The lady of the manor composed herself as best she could, ignoring the derogatory snort from her husband next to her, before asking, voice still wavering, "What does my brother wish to tell me, child?"

The girl's mouth opened before she knew what she was going to say. When she spoke the words were not hers, "He was murdered, that is why he haunts the lake."

Several things occurred all at once. Shadows began to grow like weeds around her, but she was the only one to see them. Then Kristy burst into the room, shouting more curses then was her usual conversation and the girl was the only one to witness this as well. The audience before her was in an uproar. Several ladies had shrieked and one appeared ready to faint. Many of the gentlemen stepped forward to calm the lord of the house who was screeching at her father, accusing him of 'malicious fabrications'. All her father could answer with was feeble stuttering. Others were yelling for silence so they could hear the end of the 'show'.

But all these things faded as the shadows overwhelmed her and her senses were consumed.

She felt only the slightest distraction as Kristy screamed her name. It was too late, she had no choice, she was too far-gone, and the ghost was no longer a separate entity. For a flicker in time, they shared the same existence and existence cannot be analyzed and conversed upon at a distance, it must be _experienced_.

_The figures of two men startled her._

"He never made his journey to Manchester, two men were waiting for him by the stables," the girl's voice had changed and her eyes were like crystal glass, empty and cold. It was so disturbing that it immediately silenced the nobles better than a gunshot would have. They didn't even dare to breath as they listened to this voice, no longer the whine of a girl from the gutter, but a voice that spoke clearly, concisely and became ever more masculine, even more familiar with each word sounded.

_There was a flash of steal across her throat, oh Lord the pain! And the blood! It was warm as she tried to close the wound with her hands, but it was too slippery. The ground, it was slippery as well! The panic was like lead in her bones, so slow, so clumsy in her attempt to escape. She vomited, blood mixing with the retch like her fear was paralyzing her cries for help._

"They overcame him and slit his throat, but he was not dead yet."

_'Lie still,' the terror told her, 'make them think you're dead, they'll go away.' She went limp, appendages dangling as her murderers dragged her roughly downhill. And then it began to rain. Beautiful heavenly tears that soothed the burning that was even now fading from her neck. 'The pain is going,' she wept in her delirium, 'God is healing me.'_

"It rained that night, the rain washed the blood away."

_Rough hands tied her arms and legs together so tightly she felt her skin tear and her bones grind painfully. Splinters went straight through her clothes when they dragged her down the wooden pier that scenically berthed the lake. Somehow, through the fear and pain, she realized she had become very heavy as they hoisted her body like so much garbage. Weights, she was weighted. A new surge of hysteria crashed upon her spirit. She had meant to scream, but only blood seeped from her mouth, copper and thick to the taste and she choked on it. The two men were alarmed to see her movement and hastily pushed the weights into the black water, there was a horrific splash before she was pulled after._

"They bound him to two iron wheels, rusty from an old carriage. Then cast him into the lake," her arm stressed and straight as a board, rose, pointing through the fancy papered wall, across the moonlit pasture, and to the mass of water beyond.

_The shock of the cold lake by winter was greater than the shock of pain prior. Somehow she reserved the strength to struggle against her restraints. When the rope that bound her wrists slipped away, her hopes soared. But the water was getting darker, and her body colder. Blood became a milky red cloud surrounding her and her lungs blazed under the pressure. Spots danced before her eyes, all she needed was one breath. One tiny breath of fresh air and she could free herself. Water leaked up her nose, she felt it filling her head. Soon reflex overcame common sense and she gaped her mouth, freezing water spilling into her lungs. She convulsed once, violently, before slipping into oblivion. There was no pain, no water, no blood, only the beloved scent of violets…_

"He drowned," she revolved her unseeing gaze upon the lady, arm still pointing straight to the lake, "he thought last of his wee sis."

_"Let her go, ye son o' a slut nun!"_ It was Kristy, swearing and clawing the girl out of the overwhelming embrace of the spirit! Her mind spun in confusion as she willed her powers to close the connection over the house and grounds. She pulled her thoughts inward, racing against the ghost around her to lock him out. But she hadn't completely regained control when she heard the lady ask one question:

"Who murdered my brother?"

Dread turned her body numb, she had no choice, the ghost compelled her to answer, they were still linked! Without her permission, the girl swiveled her arm from the lake to the lord, "He did." Then chaos erupted…

Ten years later…


	2. The Fraud

_Chapter Two: The Fraud_

_Ten years later…_

Shore leave on the streets of Tortuga was always a festive event.

"YO HO! A PIRATE'S LIFE FOR ME!" it is a rare and terrible thing to hear a baritone that can still screech like a soprano, but Captain Jack Sparrow managed it just fine. "WE PILLAGE! WE PLUNDER! WE RIFLE! AND…hummm…woossaname? How's it go? Bloody hell," he murmured loudly, throwing his head back to take a long swig from the bottle in his hand, pinkie and ring finger flared daintily up. "Giii-aa-iibs," his whine pierced the ears of his first mate, who was standing right next to him, trying not to appear too irritated. Jack blinked wide kohl-rimmed eyes at him, as if only realizing he was there, "Hello Gibbs-me-mate! I was just wonderin', how's that song go 'gain? Ye know the one! The one I'm always singin'," to demonstrate Jack inhaled a mighty breath and practically belched, "YO HO! A PIRATE'S LI-oh here 'tis."

Abruptly, he turned ninety degrees and swaggered down an alleyway littered with debris and the occasional unconscious sailor. The three members of his crew that were trailing him clumsily stepped and bumped into each other as they attempted to follow suit. Gibbs eyed the alley distrustfully before jogging up to the side of his captain, "Jack-," he caught a sharp glare from Jack that motioned to the crewmembers behind them. "Cap'n," Gibbs quickly rectified, while Jack and Gibbs were friends enough to drop the formalities, it always paid to keep a certain persona among one's crew, especially if they were pirates. "Permission to speak bluntly?"

"Permission grant'd, Mr. Gibbs, not like ye not havin' me permission has ever stopp'd ye talkin' before," Jack slurred this last bit into his bottle before taking another gulp of what could loosely be termed cider, in that one time there must have been apples in it.

"Well, seems to me Old Buckman has gone lost his marbles. I means, he was always on the daft side o' things," reasoned Gibbs. "But this! Come on Cap'n, ye start spreadin' the word that ye on the prowl for _ghosts_," Gibbs dropped his voice to his feet when he said this unlucky word, spitting over his right shoulder, narrowly missing a prostitute and customer taking care of business against a brick wall. "Then here comes Old Buckman that very night, swearin' up and down he knows just the lady ye need," Gibbs noticed Jack's eyebrows shoot up under his hat, "And not in the usual sense that a bloke be needin' a lady."

"Ask and ye shall receive, mate," clasping his ringed fingers and dirty palms together, Jack gazed heavenward, not so subtlety stifling a laugh.

"Ye ask me, Buckman's just pulling yer wank. I think he be a desperate old loon what need'd to make some quick cash."

"If that be the case, Mr. Gibbs, me _schedule_ is such," Jack over pronounced the _sch_ in schedule, nonchalantly examining his filthy fingernails, "that I can remain in Tortuga til' I finds the rat, sees that me money is refund'd, and hangs him in the square a few days, til' he learns his lesson about cheatin' Captain Jack Sparrow." His lips sought the drink again, but sadly discovered the bottle empty. Tossing it over his shoulder, ignoring the bump and moan as it found a living target, Jack gestured to a rundown pub with a rickety sign that read in fading letters, "The Siren's Drink". A busty woman-fish was painted winking lewdly upon the door. "First let's be makin' sure none o' that will be necessary," an immeasurable amount of slurs went into that last word.

Jack took one more eager glance at the rotting building before bursting through the door like a king, Gibbs and the others following.

The pub was visited by a handful of ancient pirates, too damned old to be of any use on a ship, too full of ocean to be any use on land. They didn't give Jack a second glance, returning to moping over their drinks.

A curvy barmaid took notice, "What ye gents be havin'?" she asked without looking up from the glass she was polishing with a dirty rag.

Jack flourished an arm in the general direction of a wobbly table by the door. Immediately, his three anonymous crewmembers sat and outwardly appeared to be relaxed and lounging. Closer examination would find their eyes sharp and watchful.

"Me men'll be havin' beer," there were some disgruntled comments from the threesome, but a quirked eyebrow from Captain Sparrow silenced them. Sauntering, in his seductive sway up to the bar, Jack steepled his decorated hands together, mock bowing his head, "Meself would greatly 'ppreciate a bottle o' rum if ye please, much obliged if ye got the spiced from New Orlawns, do ye luv?"

"Rum's local, everything's local."

"Well then I'll have to make do, wo'n I?" he spoke over his shoulder to Gibbs, never taking his suggestive eyes from the blonde barmaid, "Gibbs? What for ye?"

"Whiskey, please lass," Gibbs tried to smile charmingly, resembling a filthy jack-o-lantern.

She scrutinized them for a few moments, glowering at Jack, then Gibbs, to the three by the door, back to Jack again, "Show me the money up front o' ye no get a sip!"

"Ye wounds me deep, lass, ye wounds me deep," Jack grumbled while he snatched a leather sack from the depths of his weather beaten jacket, loosened it, and spilled the coins, clattering on the counter.

Her eyes flickered over the shiny circles of metal and nodded gruffly. She made to turn, but Jack cleared his throat, "I also be in the market for a medium, much obliged if ye got any of them lying abouts," Jack smirked.

The barmaid stared blankly at him for the briefest moment, before realization lit her pretty face, "Aaaah! Yer want that mad loony do'n ye? I was wonderin' what brings the likes o' ye here," she took the money from the counter and added quickly, "No offense meant o' course."

"O' course," conceded Jack.

"Crazy Bianca lives upstairs, I'll go fetch her. Ye sirs take a seat, yer drinks and yer," she stifled a giggle, "medium will be 'round soon."

Pleased with himself, Jack took in a greedy eyeful of the barmaid's generous rump while she retreated to the back door that led upstairs. Gibbs already found a stained table and unceremoniously flopped down in a noisy chair. Jack gave him a daft grin, which Gibbs knew was pure hogwash, Sparrow's eyes remained clever as ever, "See? No need to be makin' an exampl' out o' Old Buckman, man made good." Jack sat next to Gibbs.

"Doesn't mean she's the real thing Jack," they were alone enough to be chummy, "the wench there call'd her crazy."

"_I'm_ crazy mate," Jack set a graceful hand upon his chest, "And _I'm_ real enough." Of course, Jack considered both these statements to be compliments.

The barmaid reentered, and bustled about the pirate's order of drinks. It seemed she deliberately brought the beer to Jack's men by the door, which was a nautical breech of protocol, but seeing how they were on land, Jack decided to keep this to himself.

"Yer whiskey sir," she served Gibbs next. Jack felt his pride bristle, "And yer rum sir." The bottle was lowered dangling in front of Jack's face, but he didn't reach for it.

"That would be Cap'n, luv."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed heavily, "Yer rum then, _Captain_."

Jack still made no move to remove it from her grasp, instead smiling as genuine as a gold-toothed smile can be, "That would be Cap'n _Sparrow_, luv."

He was immensely flattered with the little gasp she made, "Cap'n _Jack_ Sparrow?"

Ignoring her question, Jack waved grandly at the bottle she held, "Still cork'd woman," Jack propped his hand to cup is chin, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "What am I paying ye for?"

Promptly, the barmaid took the cork in her white teeth, tugged roughly, and with a satisfying pop, opened the bottle. She spat the cork out several feet before it fell to the floor. "Yer rum, Cap'n Sparrow," she spoke sweetly this time.

Jack couldn't help himself, he began to chuckle and Gibbs joined in. "Oh I'm liking this one, Mister Gibbs!" Finally, he took the bottle and wasted no time gulping a few mouthfuls of cheap rum, followed by an audible groan of appreciation, "That'll put hair on yer chest, eh?"

"Madam Bianca," the barmaid bit her tongue on commenting further, settling on rolling her eyes again, "will be with you shortly."

"Wait a second now me dear," his hand shot out, wrapping itself around her shapely waist. She jumped in surprise when she was pulled closer to the pirate captain. Endearingly, Jack rested his whiskered chin against her corseted stomach, tilting his head back to peer innocently up at her from his seat. "I'm also in the market for some friendly company tonight, ye bonnie gel. What's ye say after, me meeting with this spook woman, ye and me have a right tumble, eh? How's that sound now?"

Her eyes widened and mouth gaped, but Jack interrupted her, "I know, I know, show the money up front." The leather pouch was in Jack's free hand again and he shook it, letting the coins jingle musically, then pushed it into her hand, raised above his head, awkwardly avoiding touching him. Jack realized this wasn't very flattering for a lady-killer such as himself. "Stands to reason lass, that since I show'd ye mine up front, ye makes things even 'tween us and show me some o' yers…" those talented fingers of his danced en route up her arm, crawling to a halt where strap became sleeve upon her enticing shoulder. Jack hooked one finger under the fabric, gradually pulling it down, leisurely exposing the rosy skin underneath.

His leather sack of coins was quite a shock when she spiked it with all her might right between his eyes. "Get off me, ye bloomin' pirate!" the barmaid shoved him away, nearly knocking Jack out of his chair. "This is a PUB, me good Cap'n, not a brothel!" she spat at him, her face bright red, several of the regulars peered up from their sorrows to see a familiar show. "Ye want a drink! Ye's come to me. Ye want a fuck! Ye's goes out into the street and spits, there'll be a whore! The cities thick with 'em! Go be groping 'em harlots, not the likes o' me, ye pig! I'm a decent gel I am, savvy!" she shouted, storming off through the back door, her angry footsteps stomping upstairs.

"Did ye hear that?" Jack moped, lip pouting out childishly, "She 'savvy'-ed me! _ME_!" A few muted snickers came from the first mate by his side, "Ah for Christ's sake Gibbs, quit holdin' it in! Yer always sound'd like a littl' git when you giggl'd."

At his captain's request, Gibbs guffawed, loud and obnoxious fits of laughter, "Well, at least she did'n slap ye!"

"Almost wish she had, mate," rubbing the red mark upon his forehead, Jack pocketed his pouch. "It figures, ye know? The only wench in Tortuga that's no whore and I gets randy on her."

"No worries," Gibbs patted Jack on the arm, still chuckling under his breath, "Plenty o' others to choose from."

"Why Mister Gibbs, how kind o' ye to offer, but I'm in the mood for a blonde tonight, thank ye all the same," tapping at the first mate's palm still on his forearm, he sounded as serious as the grave.

Jack and Gibbs stared at each other silently for a few moments, before both cackled gleefully. "A pirate's life for me!" they sang, clanking Gibbs whiskey glass and Jack's rum bottle together, slurping a mighty gulp, and thudding their drinks upon the table, always careful not to spill.

It was about five minutes before Madam Bianca made her grand entrance. By that time, the barmaid had returned, somewhat subdued, continuing her cleaning. Gibbs was nursing from his whiskey, while Jack was attempting to become the first singer to harmonize with his own voice. He admitted it wasn't working out too well.

The tiny jingle of bells got their attention. Their faces turned to the trilling, seeing a tall pale woman in the doorway, the ringing coming from little trinkets that decorated her neck, ears, wrist, and ankles. Her hair was thin and black, stirring and floating at the slight movement of her footfalls. It was unbound, free to spill over her bony frame and down her back. She wore a simple black dress that only slimmed her depleting figure further. A stiff wind could've carried the poor girl over and away. In the soft lamp light her skin glowed sickly white.

Her eyes were large and sorrowful and very, very black. It was almost impossible to tell her pupil from her iris. The effect made Jack shiver under his skin and not a lot of things made Jack uncomfortable. "You vish to see Madame Bianca, no?" her voice was breathy as her eyes were unblinking. An accent of eastern European cropped her vowels, but something about it made Jack's nose itch.

"That's right," Jack nudged Gibbs to rise with him as the lady took her seat.

"You vish to contact someone from zee beyond, no?"

"Er, that's right," a quick glance to his first mate, confirmed that Gibbs wasn't buying it. Honestly, Jack hadn't decided yet, "But me pal here, is'n what ye might call a believer. So I was hopin' ye could give us a littl' demonstration, ye know, to sooth the savage skeptic, sort-a-speak?"

"You vish to test _me_? Ze Great Madam Bianca herself?" she clucked her tongue, when Jack nodded enthusiastically, "Very well."

"Do'n ye mean _vell_?" Gibbs spoke to his whiskey, ignoring Bianca's glare.

She gave a dramatic sigh that made her body shudder. "I see something," Jack appreciated the irony that she shut her eyes when she said this, "I see black."

"'Cause yer eyes are closed," Jack stated helpfully, Gibbs just snickered.

Without changing her expression, Bianca cleared her throat, "I see black _sails_." Both Jack and Gibbs immediately shut their mouths, this earned a tiny smirk if triumph from the gypsy. "Yes, black sails upon a black ship. Vhat iz dis?" The two pirates glanced about in case this wasn't a rhetorical question, "I see a bird of some sort flying free over ze ocean, yes? I vonder vhat kind of bird it iz. Perhaps a _sparrow_?"

Jack hazarded a quick peek at the barmaid, who had been deliberately not looking at them.

"Vell, Captain _Jack Sparrow_?" Bianca boastfully stuck up her nose, "Did I pass?"

"Depends," Jack said thoughtfully, expression blank. "How much this goin' to cost me, madam?" Gibbs started coughing, completely aghast.

"Three pence to start transcendence," Bianca didn't miss a beat.

"Just to start, ye say?"

"Captain Sparrow, ze spirit world is a place of mystery. Many things can fog ze second sight. Emotion, doubt, unnecessary and selfish attachments to earthly and temporary materials…" she ended waving her wispy arms about vaguely and the tingles that followed were beginning to grate on Gibbs' nerves.

"Ah, I gets it! Every time this pesky fog shows up, I lay more o' me money down, and poof," Jack snapped his fingers in front of her face, she gave the slightest jump, "the mist clears out like a whore on rent day?"

"Something like zat," tracing her fingers along Jack's hand, which still rested upon the table, Bianca fidgeted with a particularly impressive diamond ring around his thumb, "Remember Captain, money iz not ze only earthly material."

"Oh I'm startin' to like this one now!" another sip o' rum, then, "Mister Gibbs, give Madam Bianca three pence, if ye please."

Opening his mouth to argue, Gibbs thought better of it. Instead, settling on an obvious snort and tossing the copper onto the table, "Aye Cap'n."

Bianca swept the coins away and into her skirts, "Very good. Now, who vill ve be communicating vith tonight?"

"Me dear sweet mother," dutifully, Jack removed his hat and kissed his hand mournfully before blowing it heavenward. From across the pub, the barmaid stifled a laugh.

"I ze," Madam Bianca clasped her fingers in prayer, lowering her head, the bells twanging around her neck and wrists. The black eyes shut, "Spirits of the underworld," she spoke grandly, "hear the plea of zis grief-stricken son for hiz beloved mother. Ve beseech you, souls of ze dead to conjure ze one who gave him life! I, Madam Bianca ze Great, hereby order it!" There was a theatrical pause ending in Bianca trembling, "You are in luck Captain Sparrow, ze spirits have blessed you this evening. Your departed mother iz here."

Another grand flourish of her jingling arms and Bianca sat entranced, "I see…I see…" Bianca moaned, "She vishes to tell you something…something important…a terrible secret! Oh ze shame! Oh ze dishonor! Oh ze guilt which eats at her very soul from beyond ze grave! She must purge herself of her sin, oh that she might find respite!" Suddenly Bianca's entire demeanor changed, her voice became as oily as an eels, "Tell me Jack, iz zere, perhaps, a mystery as pertains to your paternal legitimacy?"

"Most definitely!" Jack beamed with pride.

"Yes, of course, the spirits have enlightened me!" the grandeur returned like lightening, "Your mother begs to impart ze identity of your father, ze only man she has ever truly loved! You must find him and make peace vith him, for ze sake of your mother's eternal soul. Zis is her last request…do not fail her Jack…help her rest in peace! Your father is…your father is…" yelping, Bianca clutched her heart, panting roughly. "I cannot! Zere is too much worldly influence in ze way," two black eyes fell upon Jack's shining rings.

"This be amazin'!" Jack drawled, grinning vacantly. "Mister Gibbs, is'n this amazin'?"

"Bloody spectacular, 'tis," Gibbs returned the wry smile. Madam Bianca, not totally void of the powers of intuition, suppressed a shiver, noticing the conspicuous change in the atmosphere.

"Particularly spectacular" leaning forward, Jack crept closer to Bianca, his nose an inch from hers, "considerin' me dear, sweet mother's not dead." He rapped on the table so loudly, a stressed squeak escaped Bianca's thin lips in surprise, "Knock on wood."

"What are ye sayin' Jack?" Gibbs gasped sarcastically, "You're not suggesting' that 'ze Great Madam Bianca' be a fraud are ye?"

"Faker than her accent Mister Gibbs!"

"Fancy that."

A few panic stutters answered them, "Well, I mean vell…maybe…um…she's been sick? And…no, no, I've got it! She's not your real mother!" Desperation tinged her white face pink as she held up her palms hopefully. "The spirits have enlightened me?" she said uncertainly.

"Oh come on luv," Jack eased back in his seat, creaking loudly, and crossing his feet atop the table, "At first 'twas cute, now ye just bein' pathetic. It's time to-," sticking a finger in Gibbs' side, Jack exaggerated a wink, "give up the _ghost_!" Jack exploded in voluminous laughter, "Get it!"

"Jesus, Jack where ye get yer puns?" Gibbs swiped his finger inside his empty glass and licked the stray whiskey off. "That was bloody awful!"

"Bah, what do ye know, ye drunk?"

"Look who's talkin'!"

The banter ceased when clanging jewelry signaled Bianca's sorry attempt at a stealthy escape, she was only halfway out of her chair. She froze like a wild animal and meekly asked, "How 'bout ye mates give me a 'ead start, eh?"

"How 'bout ye give Mister Gibbs two o' his pence back, keep one for the fine entertainment, and get the hell out of me sight 'fore I change me mind?" Jacked cocked his head to the side, beads and trinkets making noises of their own in his hair.

Not needing to be told twice, Bianca cast the coins at Gibbs, hitched up her skirt, and executed a hasty, if somewhat musical, retreat, her little bells jingling all the way down the alley and fading into the Tortuga nightlife. One of Jack's men moved to follow her, but Jack waved him back into his seat.

"Damn I'm a softy," heaving a great sigh, Jack let his head flop back, gazing at the damp ceiling. "Captain Jack the _Merciful_, I can hear it now," he spat moodily.

"Merciful me arse!" Gibbs collected the two pence, "That 'twas me money, Jack, ye owe me a copper."

"How 'bouts a drink insteady?"

"That'll work."

"Ahoy, me buxom beauty!" hollering across the room, Jack waved merrily at the barmaid, who gave a huff. "Another whiskey here," Jack examined his bottle of rum carefully, then added, "And beer for me!"

"Gets yer feet off that table and I'll gets ye yer drinks," she hollered back, hands on hips.

"Oooh, I'm in troubl' now," Jack told Gibbs, leisurely lowering his feet to the floor, never breaking eye contact with the barmaid. The moment his boots touched ground, she twirled around and fetched their order. "Supposin' we should go huntin' for Old Buckman tonight, eh? Get me money back 'fore he drinks it all, that daft old bugger."

Every ounce of restraint kept Gibbs from commenting, 'I told ye so!' after all, a captain was still a captain, friend or no. He settled on comforting Jack's pride as a proper substitute for gloating, "Did'n figure Buckman for gullible though. Who's to know he'd be takin' in by a con with a pretty face?"

"That's if he was, Gibbs," Jack debated, "maybe he's hopin I get fool'd. And if that's how the winds blowin', we got to rough him up a bit. Nothin' too drastic, mind ye, just 'nough so peoples can point and say, 'Dumb bloke cross'd Captain Jack, that'll teach him.'"

"Him thinkin' ye'll fall for a con, be gullible in me book and bloomin' stupid to boot. Anyway, Old Buckman drinks here, mounts the cheap wenches under the peer, and sleeps in the church that be all he does. He'll be 'round soon 'nough," Gibbs stretched, slow and lazy. "No sense trudgin' 'bout the streets, Buckman'll be comin' here any moment to spend some o' that fifteen crowns ye paid him, bet me life on it."

"Here ye go boys," the barmaid approached, glass and mug in tow. "Ye owes me for the whiskey," she set it down before Gibbs, "but this be a free beer for the good Cap'n what done what he was told and kept his boots off the table." Patting the hat atop his head, she slid the mug in front of Jack. He couldn't be sure which set his blood boiling more, the ample amount of bosom that was presented when she bent slightly to tap him, or the words 'free beer'. "Sees ye scared 'way that riff raff Bianca," the barmaid said conversationally as Jack dug around his pockets for exact change.

"Was'n all that bad, me dear," Jack flourished the money towards her and she seized it, keeping a keen eye on his other hand, "Ye told her did'n ye? Me name, that is?"

Daintily she blushed and Jack felt lust course through his veins like the alcohol he was consuming. Heaven knew he loved a blushing woman. It was so ladylike, so deliciously feminine, but still hinted at very naughty thoughts. Especially, this charming example before him, the color was so strong upon her rosy cheeks, it could have been bright rouge. The pink tinge spilled down her swan neck, spreading to the shoulders he had sought to uncover only ten minutes prior. But what fashioned this pretty picture into eroticism for Jack was the beautiful flush spanned the expanse of her glorious breasts, coloring the porcelain cleavage that made his mouth water. Such a sight inspired his fantasies to fathom how far that blush must creep along her body, and how his questing hands and mouth intended to follow it. How much of that creamy skin turned pink when excited? There was a telltale tightening in his trousers and Jack had to bite his tongue to assuage the thoughts running rampant in his mind, indebted to the table covering his lap.

"Aye, I told her," the barmaid shrugged, dispersing the blush, for which Jack was sorrowful and grateful at the same time. "Figur'd Bianca could use all the help she can get. She's not a bad gel, not malicious anyways. Sweet Mary though, the predictions that comes from her mouth, craziest things ye ever heard, hardly ever right." She twiddled her fingers in a friendly gesture of farewell and abandoned them to their drinks and musings.

"Gots to give Madam Bianca a littl' bit o' credit though," Jack heartily cracked his knuckles. "She did guess that I'm a bastard."

"Beggin' ye pardon Cap'n," Gibbs testified, matter-a-fact, "but blind beggars in the gutter and wee babies at their momma's tit can tell yer a bastard. Ye practically have 'questionable parentage' tattooed on yer head!" To emphasize his point, Gibbs tapped Jack's temple twice.

"Bah, send me regards to yer mother," Jack retorted, distracted by the barmaid who was presently checking the pulse of an inebriated old sailor who hadn't moved in a long while. "Ye do know me offer still stands, sweetheart?" Jack bellowed to her, flailing his exaggerating arms like she was a league away. "So if ye happens to discover yerself cold and lonely sleeping by yer onesies tonight, ye skip yer way over to the Black Pearl," several of the inhabitants of the bar stirred at the mention of the infamous ship, "and asks for me. Be all too happy to accommodate ye ands I swears by Poseidon hiself, ye'll always 'member this night as the night ye sport'd with Cap'n Jack Sparrow!" like a gentleman from Sussex, Jack spread his arms and bowed gracefully, albeit still in his chair.

She ground her teeth, readying a scathing insult, but she caught Jack's genuine smile, lacking in its lewdness and mockery. It occurred to the barmaid that somewhere in his intoxicated brain, he truly considered this proposition to be the sincerest sort of flattery to give a woman. Instead, she returned the smile, huffing theatrically and waving her hands about, as if shooing away a simple child. Quite pleased with himself, Jack chuckled then downed his free beer in one impressive gulp.

The front door swung open, "Maren, ye blessed gel, fetch me a round and a round and a round, then another round!" an elderly man, squinting through milky cataracts, cackled and strode into the bar. At once, Gibbs and Jack recognized the raspy voice, eyes swiveling upon Old Buckman.

"No, no, no!" the barmaid hustled at the old man. "Out this instance! Ye tab is bigger then a whale's wanker, Buck, and no beggin' and no puppy dog eyes this time! That last drank I gave ye out o' the compassion of me heart nearly got me sack'd and a good right smack too!" She placed one hand on hip and the other waggled a finger at the door, "Out now, Buckman, comes back when ye pays the money ye owe."

"But Maren me angel, I gots money! And plenty of it, me ship's sailed in finally! Lookie here, luv!" Old Buckman presented one gold coin proudly. "Now come sit and drink with Old Buckman and let him thank ye for all the kindness ye ever showed this poor old man. Who knows, I might even give ye all them tips I always promis'd ye!"

A snap surprised the two. It came from Jack, grinning like a cat. Instantly, the three pirates still seated soundly by the door pounced. One grabbed Buckman's collar, the other two pinned his arms.

Pitifully, Old Buckman blinked confused, before his bleary eyes identified Jack stepping closer followed by Gibbs. "Cap'n Sparrow? Bless me heart, what a relief!" he gibbered, "Mistook ye for common criminals I did, almost gave me a heart attack." He timidly tested pulling against the grasps that held him, but they wouldn't budge. "What's this now Cap'n? Did'n I make good? I said-I did-I said, 'Goes to the Siren's Drink,' that's what I said."

"Aye that's what ye said," Jack blew out an exasperated breath, itching his whiskered cheek, "But no, ye did'n make good, Buckman. Madam Bianca's a phony and a frivolous waste o' me time. And me time is valuable-," His voice faded to silence when Old Buckman howled in laughter so loudly it ended in fits of violent coughs.

"Bianca!" he quipped, "That loony tart? No, no, Cap'n Jack, why she's dafter then I am!" Buckman grinned, some teeth black and others missing, in relief.

"No argument there," Gibbs said.

"Old Buck, me thinks ye best be elaboratin'," pinching the bridge of his nose, Jack signaled his crewmembers to let the elder go.

"She's the one ye want," a crooked finger, arched from arthritis, pointed directly at the barmaid, "a genuine medium!"


	3. The Medium

_Chapter Three: The Medium_

"A genuine medium!"

Maren stomach congealed to lead. She had been watching the scene unfold with keen interest, in case the situation got out of hand. After all, Buckman still owed his tab and dead men don't tip well. But she froze, panic written upon her lovely face, when that finger fell on her and proclaimed her, marked like Cain, a medium.

"_Told ye the son o' bitch couldn't keep one God damned secret_," Kristy whined, making futile attempts to lift Gibb's whiskey in her ghost hands. "_Christ, the unmentionables I'd do for a drink_!"

'Shut it Kristy, yer not helping,' Maren's gift transpired silently. Swallowing a lump in her throat, Maren said out loud, "Buck, ye fool, what's ye goin' on 'bouts now?" She noticed Jack's eyes slitting, scrupulously studying her. "Ye don't believe him do ye? He's crazy!" too late she heard the pleading in her voice and she doubted Jack would miss such a clue.

Frightened, he might lose his fifteen crowns, Old Buckman tried to smooth things over, "Don't be like that Maren, ye ain't no liar, ye be a good gel ye be. And Cap'n Sparrow, he's good man, why he gives me fifteen crowns just to tell him where's he can finds ye, fifteen crowns just for directions! I'm sure he'll pay ye good money too! And I bets Kristy agrees with me."

"_To right I do, but I be buggered if she listens to me, Buckman me mate. Hell she did'n even listen when's I tolds her to go 'head and hump Sparrow's brains out!_" Kristy often addressed others, knowing full well only Maren heard her.

"If ye be authentic, me pretty littl' barmaid," Jack splayed his fingers out, palms presented upward, easing closer, like he was trying not to startle a flighty rabbit, "Ye'll be seeing quite a bit more than fifteen crowns, I promise ye that." He reached out to touch her face, but she quickly leapt away. "Whose Kristy anyways?" Jack spun around to address Buckman, the question only now dawning on him. Maren prayed he'd given up.

"Kristy's a ghost o' a dead prostitute-,"

"_I prefer living-impaired lady-of-negotiable-affections, thank ye kindly Mister Buckman._"

"What stays round Maren and helps her deals with them other spooks," Buckman said proudly, still urging Maren into submission.

"Buck, ye promised Pa ye'd never tell," Maren scolded, a blush of anger adorned her fair features. Lucky, having his back still to Maren, Jack didn't see his fetish mark her skin, lest he would have had to find a nearby table to sit behind. Maren was feeling bolder, fueled by her temper, conveniently forgetting Jack's close proximity.

"I know and I be sorry, honest am! But I _needs_ this money bad, Maren. I got debts to some dangerous peoples not so understandin' as Cap'n Jack here. Davey, God rest his soul, he'd do the same, yer pa was a practical man."

"For ye information, Old Buckman, me father-," she had started forward fists clenched, while Jack took his advantage. He was upon her before she even registered he had stirred. Rough fists clenched her arms, keeping them immobile as he drew her close, drawing their faces a breath away from each other. The gasp that tore from her throat was both surprised and frightened as Jack Sparrow stared fiercely at her.

"_Ye horse's arse, ye let her go!_" Kristy raged, never too shocked to forget to curse. "_Kick him Maren! Kick him in the sociables!_"

'I do'n imagin' that bein' good idea,' shuddering, Maren could do nothing but squirm under the intense scrutiny of the pirate who trapped her.

"Do'n hurt her!" cried Buckman, seized by one of the pirate goons from interfering. "She be a good gel, Cap'n Sparrow! She's been so kind to me," he pathetically begged.

"Settle down now," Jack kept his gaze locked on Maren, "Cap'n Jack Sparrow do'n assault women, lest they ask me nice," Jack murmured under his breath, a faint smile under his moustache, but it disappeared when he addressed Maren, "Then it's fact miss? Can ye honest-to-God communicate with the dead? Ye best be tellin' Jack the truth now."

"_Tell him 'twas a con yer father cook'd up in London and if he do'n like it, he can lick yer twat,_" offered Kristy, always one to think fast on her feet, and on her back, and on her knees, and other assorted positions.

Frankly, Maren had every intention on doing just that, the first part at least; she hardly considered it wise to encourage Jack about the last part. But the lie died on her tongue, there was something about Jack's stare. It stripped her down naked, laying her thoughts bare for his touch. For a long while, she met his eyes. They were dark brown, lined with an excessive amount of black kohl and she lived in port long enough to know sailors sometimes did this to sway the sun from their sight, but to Jack it had become a decoration, enticing and mystical. The ocean sun had coppered his skin a beautiful gold, yes, beautiful she realized ashamed. Guiltily she admitted to herself, she had fancied him handsome the moment he burst through the pub door. His hair was a disaster, a dreadlocked tangle of lengthy brown highlights, but this too was exotic, especially the assorted charms and beads woven in. He had beads entwined in his beard also, split into two halves on either side of his chin. For a moment it made her think of a devil's horns, except that these weren't on the top of his head. Maren had never favored moustaches, usually the man's last meal was still entrapped in it, yet Jack's, unlike the rest of him, was clean and tapered. And then his lips-

Her contemplation was interrupted when Jack squeezed her arms impatiently, still seeing right through her. Maren resolved herself, Jack already knew, now he was just testing her compliancy. It was probably a generous thing for him to do, permitting her one last chance to tell the truth. "Cap'n Sparrow," she spoke so quietly Jack leaned his ear next to her mouth and she noticed a gold hoop and several studs had been pierced through, "I…I do'n do that sort o' thing no more."

Jack repressed a shiver as her hot breath tickled his ear. He turned his face to study her, her expression desperate and pleading. Their noses touched briefly and he was so deliciously tempted to kiss her, but work before pleasure, unfortunately. His beard rubbed against her cheek as he brought his lips to her ear, "Ye do'n?" It was Maren's turn to shiver, only she wasn't as experienced as Jack at hiding her body's reactions and Jack was pompously pleased with the evident effect he had on her. "But ye _can_ if ye want'd to, eh? Ye just be requirin' incentive and this be it gel. If ye helps me, I intends to pay ye an insane amount of money, set ye up good, get ye out of this rottin pit. But if ye do'n helps me, I might get very talkative. The word on what ye are will blaze through the streets o' Tortuga like a wild fire. Everyone is goin' to know yer dirty littl' secret luv, ye be hounded day and night, star'd at like a circus freak, avoid'd like the plague, I swears it!"

"Ye…yer blackmailin' me!" Maren craned her neck back to look at Jack aghast.

"Pirate," he said as his only explanation, flashing his gold smile. Maren found herself wondering how he could have lost so many of his teeth, when the ones he had appeared pearly and healthy.

"_Just fuck it, Pet,_" Kristy only used this term of endearment to manipulate Maren, "_'Taint nothin' we never dids before and I do'n think he be leavin' till ye do. Plus, ye shifts almost up and ye promis'd we was visitin' the theatre tonight._"

'Thanks for the help," Maren sarcastically retorted to Kristy. To Jack, she ground her teeth before reluctantly, but decisively proclaiming, "Fine, but on me own conditions."

"Excellent! Name them and let's get start'd!" releasing his grip on Maren, Jack motioned to his table where his precious rum still waited. Maren didn't budge, massaging the place where Jack's hands had clamped her arms so hard.

"First, ye have to keep me secret better than Old Buckman," she flashed an ugly look towards the old man, who peered sheepishly down at his feet.

"Aye, anything else?"

Biting her lip, Maren glanced around at the drunken old pirates that still gazed at their drinks, pretending they weren't interested in the quieted conversation, "One more, we does this in private, just ye and me, none o' yer men."

"Deal," Jacked rubbed his hands together, "Ye got a room upstairs?"

"Aye," catching Jack's leer, Maren added, "And no sportin', got it?"

"_Why the devil not?_"

"Should o' made that one o' yer terms me dear, 'cause with ye flauntin' that figure 'round, well lets just say I can't be promisin' nothin', savvy?" Jack's dancing hands illustrated an exaggerated hourglass, his eyes shining in delight. "Shall we?" he smiled charmingly, offering his arm.

Maren rolled her eyes, just to make sure he understood her displeasure at her current circumstance, before conceding and tucking her hand around his elbow. "And none of ye scalawags get any ideas 'bout nippin' some drink while I'm gone, I knows every bottle and its amount by heart! God help ye if a single drops missin' when I gets back!" she shouted out before guiding Jack to the back door, several occupants sank noticeably in their chairs.

The stairway was narrow so Maren ascended first; oblivious to the fact Jack's face was now level with her backside as he followed. That is until Kristy spoke up, "_I gives him five seconds 'fore he pinches ye…or bites ye maybe. Why ye think, fancy he be a biter?_" floating her wraith form through the two living persons. Maren drew her eyebrows together, puzzled by the ghost, before looking over her shoulder and witnessing Jack's passionate stare still anchored securely below her waistline.

When he hadn't bothered to inquire why they stopped or even raise his eyes to her face, Maren cleared her throat. He tore himself out of a particularly delightful fantasy featuring that delectable rump and the equally attractive package attached withering between him and the mast of the Black Pearl. "What?" Jack asked hazily, candidly confused.

"Forget it," huffing in frustration, Maren sprinted up the rest of the stairs, hearing Jack's boots hasten to stay right behind. At the top, Maren spun left and strode down a rickety hall. Besides the musty scent of a stuffy attic and spoiling wood, Jack's keen nose detected a sweet misty scent. Maren observed his nostrils flaring and heard his sniff, "Most of the gel's that live here be chasin' the dragon," retrieving a brass key from the pocket of her skirt, Maren halted at a lonely door at the very end of the hallway. "Come 'round noon tomorrow, the place be so smoky ye think we was on fire!" The door unlocked, creaking, as it swung open.

"Well that's very interestin'," she could hear the smirk in his voice as she searched along the small stand by the door for the matches. "Ye ever indulge in littl' Asian entertainment?"

"Me? Lord no, opium's not for me," the match hissed and its flame quickly lighted the lamp's wick that was mounted by the door. While she took the lighting stick to the lamp on the dresser and the candle on the nightstand by her bed, she explained, "I prefers me vices simple, 'Never have to speculate 'bout the bottom o' a bottle,' me Pa always said."

"On that note, I agrees whole heartedly," Jack still remained outside the tiny room, watching its illumination. It was certainly threadbare to say the least; a low straw stuffed bed with a quilt so patched the original pattern could not be deciphered. The furniture was crudely made and of many different kinds of wood, consisting of a dresser adorned with cracked pitcher and washbasin, night table that wobbled, and two chairs with broken backs that were probably thrown out from downstairs. "But the occasional experiment can be most amusin'."

Ignoring the obvious proposal, Maren waved Jack in, "Come, make yerself at home," he entered, removing his precious hat and grinning in a friendly manner. "May I take yer burdens?" without his waiting for a reply, Maren already placed her hands on the back of his broad shoulders, tugging his worn coat off.

"Thanks sweetheart," Jack let the jacket slip and only stalled a moment before relinquishing his hat to her.

"Me name's Maren Attle," she said proudly, carefully hanging Jack's hat and coat upon a single wooden stub nailed to the wall, "Call me Maren if ye likes, everybody does."

"Aye Maren, pleased to make yer acquaintance," he flourished another embellished bow. Then added, "And ye be callin' me Jack, lessen we be around the crew, then its Cap'n, savvy?" Jack held his hand up to her, but realized her sights were elsewhere. Maren's eyes were hovering on his waist and Jack's ego swelled immensely that his shape should be so appeasing as to distract a woman. At least that's what he thought at first, he then dumbly noticed it wasn't his physique that she was watching, but the pistol securely tucked into his waistband. Her eyes flickered from gun to sword to gun again.

"No worries Maren," Jack raised his palms in surrender, "I said I won't hurt ye and I mean it."

"Oh o'course, how silly of me, not trustin' a pirate," she rolled those blue eyes again, picking up the chairs and depositing them in the middle of the room. "Please sit Jack," she emphasized his name, "And mind the backs, thems a bit flimsy."

She was amazed when he politely waited until she was perched upon her seat before taking his. They lulled in silence for a while, Maren uncomfortable and Jack analyzing her, she stubbornly held still while he stared, refusing to be the first to break the quiet.

Jack had already discovered that Maren was attractive, but under closer scrutiny, he decided she was beautiful as well. Maybe not in the same way them snobs considered beauty, frizzy curls stacked on a head like a hat, tall and thin as a tree, and white like death; no that sort of expensive taste never appealed to Jack. Give him some curves, natural curves, he hated how deceptive corsets could be once off. And long hair free and flowing, tickling like feathers in bed. Her skin should be clear and rosy, bursting with healthy energy; tans were especially nice. As for stature, he preferred a chin rest when involved in amorous activities, so about eight inches shorter then he was preferable.

Maren was a marvelous illustration of his ideals. She was a blonde, which didn't principally influence him, but her hair was very long and she kept it braided, swaying like a pendulum past her waist. Her skin was clear, save for affable dimples upon her cheeks and even though it didn't look like she'd tan well, there was a flush of pink that colored her peach complexion that compensated nicely. A little sentimentality snuck up on Jack, when he observed her eyes and compared the deep blue color to that of his beloved ocean. Unnerved by how poetic that would sound, Jack balanced it by lewdly imagining the decadence he could impose on those lush lips, mauve in color and plump in shape. But superior to her other characteristics, was her curvy shape. She was a breeder, as the old wives called it, hips wide like handles for a man to mount, slim waist to entice, and the crème de la crème, a large but still very pert bust, full and erotic. Maren's height was the only thing petite about her, ending with the top of her head at Jack's throat and Jack was a man of average stature to begin with. From a distance, it appeared she should be a good deal taller, her build suggesting the stock of the great Viking Valkyries so long ago, but had now dwindled to the robust breed of northern milkmaids, reared for hard work and childbearing.

God he wanted her…but first.

"How's this suppos'd to work?" Jack asked.

Relieved he'd finally spoken, Maren submitted, "Ye concentrate on the one ye needs to talk to and I acts as sort o' go-between, hence the name…medium. Mine ye, if the dead is properly restin' it takes a bit longer, but it be safer. It's like they're tired and I keeps wakin' 'em up, they wo'n be bother'd by me," Maren leaned forward in her seat, Jack mimicked, inching closer, "But it 'nother story all together if it be hauntin'. Happens quick like, all the emotion and spirit and..and…their life, for lack o' a better term, tries to absorb in me. Bit harder to stand back and be a spectator when that occurs. That be why I gots Kristy, she's like me guide." Kristy waved merrily from the bed, "She ensures we stay distanc'd. Kristy says I be like a fountain o' life type deal, and all the ghosts in the world just wants to drink me dry. So if Kristy's there, spongin' up all me water, she be controlin' how much them others get, that's how she explains it anyway. She's like the medium's medium really." Maren glanced towards the bed, smiling faintly and Jack's eyes followed, but saw only the withered blanket.

"She here now?" Maren nodded, indicating the straw mattress. "Well how be ye Kristy? Name's Cap'n Jack Sparrow o' the Black Pearl, glad ye could join us," Jack exuberantly greeted.

"_He's mockin' me, I can tell,_" gliding next to Jack, Kristy childishly stuck out her tongue, "_Shove it where ye uncle did!_"

"Uh, she says the honors all hers."

"So why is'n Kristy as overwhelming as the others, she be a haunt too, aye?" expressive brows quipped as Jack stretched his legs, folding his hands behind his bandana wrapped head.

"Aye she is. I suppose she got familiar with me gifts," Maren shrugged, "She should be, been 'round since I can 'member, the very first ghost to be drawn to me. Maybe a bit o' me rubb'd off on her in the early days, 'cause she is the singular most aware ghost I ever comes 'cross. A ghost be a confused and baffled thing, not completely understandin' o' their situation, but thems easy enough to control with Kristy 'bout."

"What if they're not keen on bein' social?" Jack sounded curious, but he was clearly inquiring with specific goals in mind.

Her chest expanding, which was an impressive, if not a sexual sight, Maren stuck her nose up, "There isn't a ghost hauntin' that can lie, cheat, or avoid me and Kristy for long."

"So ye can contact any ghost anytime anywhere?" though Jack appeared bored, his eyes sparkled with intrigue.

A snort, which sounded suspiciously like a muted laugh, escaped Maren's nose, "That ain't a medium ye need, ye be needin' Saint Peter hiself!" When Jack's smile vanished, Maren elaborated quickly, "I be only one women and even me powers have their limits. Ye have to have known the spirit and had a strong bond with them. Friend, family, lover, o' enemy-."

Jack interrupted, "Enemy?"

"The bond o' love be just as strong as the bond o' hatred," Maren tilted her head, speculating, "Figure'd ye know that Jack."

"What if I never met him?"

"Well that be 'nother kettle of fish then, if it is indeed spookin'" Maren numbered off on her fingers, "Ye goin' to have to takes me to its hauntin' place o' brings me a possession it cherish'd, a ring o' sword o' Bible perhaps, then we'd make contact in two licks, I guarantee."

Jack closed his eyes that queer smile returning. A few moments of contemplation and Jack was decided, "Here's the plan then, I fetches a personal affect and ye can talk to the dead man?"

"Aye," Maren conceited, a forgotten pride rising to the surface.

"Then that's what we do," Jack sat forward, finger pointed accusingly at Maren's nose, "But I require some proof, luv, 'fore I goes to all that trouble, savvy?"

"Suspect'd as much," Maren bustled over to the corner, standing nose to the wall like a punished child. "Kindly retrieve an item from ye jacket, show it 'round so Kristy can gander, and I tell ye what ye picked."

"_Oh for the luv of God_," griped Kristy, "_not this again! Am I just some bitch what does tricks now?_"

"Ye peekin'?" Jack's doubt seeped into his voice.

"No sir, Cap'n," her sense of delight flared, aware Jack was about to be astonished. When she heard his boots thump towards his jacket, Maren continued, "Me pa thought this one up. Used to perform it for the locals back in London. Been so many years since I done it, it be feelin' kind o' juvenile now."

"Know what mean," whispering under his breath, Jack claimed his trusty compass from his coat pocket. Deciding he'd done dafter things than this, he brandished the compass about, unsure how long ghost's took to identify objects. Satisfied, he cautiously replaced his compass, minding that the jacket looked undisturbed. Jack sat again, legs crossed, and one arms hanging over the back of the chair, "Right Maren."

'Kristy?' Maren inquired, facing Jack and smiling smugly.

"_A bloomin' bust'd compass_," snapped Kristy.

Tucking some stray hairs behind her ear and slimming her wool skirt, Maren bowed her head slightly and proclaimed rather arrogantly, "Broken compass." Jack stayed seated, pokerfaced and cold. The repressed flirt in Maren said playfully, "Vell did I pass?" performing an impression of Madam Bianca and curtsied.

"If I want'd parlor tricks I'd have hired meself a magician," the cruelness in Jack's remark knocked Maren dumb. "Do'n get me wrong, it's a swindlin' littl' con ye gots goin', but Cap'n Jack Sparrow never gets takin'. How's it down now? Mirrors?" Jack walked to his coat and hat dismissing her.

"Jack that wasn't some hoax-," Maren attempted to explain.

"Save it luv for someone who swallows," he was thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, refusing to face her. Had he been, Maren might have noticed the foxy glint in his eye. Kristy on the other hand, intuitively sensed a trap.

Truthfully, Jack was impressed, but the bargainer's rule of thumb, 'Never let them know you're interested,' forced him to play rough.

"_I smells pope shit,_" Kristy glared at Jack tucking his ridiculous hat on.

"Jack listen-,"

"Me time is precious and ye waist'd it," Jack clapped his hands and scathingly spoke, "I must say, I probably would've been better off with Madam Bianca, at least she's a entertain' fraud," Jack spared nothing when pushing people's buttons. His boots scuffed her floor when he spun on his heels.

"Compare _me_ to Bian-Kristy!" she began her statement shocked but ended in determination.

"_Pet, I do'n think-,_"

'Kristy! We'll show him what for!' already Maren's mind was searching.

"_-he be serious._"

"Bloody fake is what I'm comparin' ye too!" rubbing salt in a wound was really an art to Jack. 'Soon as I gets out the door, I'll let her stop me,' Jack mused to himself, 'then let the bargain' proposition begin!'

'Fake! Kristy would ye help me!'

"_Settle down-._"

"Kristy!"

"That's right wench, never give in," approaching the door, Jack added over his shoulder, "Bets yer whole virgin act be a con to, eh? Clever little scheme for a whore, drives the prices sky high, does it?"

Fortunately, Maren didn't hear this last insult…someone was drawing near. Kristy had no choice but to aide Maren's folly.

When no retort was forthcoming, Jack laid his hand upon the doorknob, "Fare ye well Miss Attle."…then his blood froze.

"Ten years ye carry that pistol-."


	4. The Kick

_Chapter Four: The Kick_

"Ten years ye carry that pistol-,"

In a fluid motion, almost impossible for the naked eye to follow, Jack drew his sword and spun towards that voice, _his_ voice. He halted his blade, barely half an inch from a lovely neck not three feet away from him. He paused, appalled.

"-and now ye waste yer shot," Maren's eyes were empty, never registering the sword upon her throat. Instead she turned her face and cocked her ear as if listening to some silent statement. Her expression, so like _his_, altered from pleasure to pain. A graceful hand rose to her left breast and moved an invisible lapel. Her vision fell down to her chest then lifted to Jack, almost relieved, "I feel…cold."

Just as Maren should've fallen, body rigid, she caught herself and blinked away the haze, listening to Kristy's soothing assurances that she was not in a cave covered in treasure, a handsome boy was not standing magnificently by a stone chest behind her, a beautiful girl was not strangely dressed in an officer's uniform, and Jack was not her murderer with his pistol in hand, hating her so passionately. She rejoined reality only to discover Jack indeed had a blade pointed at her. His eyes were severe, full of amazement, and a thin sheen of sweat had dampened his brow while his arm held the sword stiff and ready.

"I know I ask'd for that," Jack said quietly, sheathing his sword, "But never be doin' that again. Anyone dead 'round me, stays dead, savvy?"

Maren mutely nodded, allowing herself to release a anxious breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. She felt nauseous, whoever that spirit was he was an evil man and her whole soul felt like scouring itself clean. The shaking of her nerves was testament that she was ill practiced with her unique skills, but even rusty she sensed something…odd. And then there was Jack, she might have just insulted him in someway, she felt timid and guilty about it. If he was offended, he was the type to never reconcile, holding grudges forever. Her friendship with the great Captain Sparrow was over before it ever really begun and for reasons she wasn't willing to admit to herself, she was regretful.

Jack kept silent. Maren was preparing herself for another borage. Freak, witch, devil…she endured that and more many times prior. But the attack she received was not what she was expecting…

As graceful as his swordplay had been, Jack pounced on Maren yet again. One of his arms surrounded her waist and the opposite grasped her back. There was a second of bewilderment when her body crashed against Jack's, warm and strong. That familiar gasp of surprise spilled from her lips and Jack's mouth descended like a bird of prey. Wet heat engulfed her senses, lighting fires down her limbs and freeing fresh desires. His talented tongue ravaged her mouth like his presence ravaged her confidence, caressing and stroking her own, till she responded meekly flicking at his teeth. A base moan vibrated from his throat. Regarding this as encouragement, she grew bolder, tasting the gold of his teeth before instinctually invading his mouth. He responded with an aggressive nip at her lips. A strange tingling began to burn somewhere by her stomach and moisture dampened her knickers. Without her consent, a wanton groan sounded from her own throat, her hands grasping desperately to his shoulders. Hearing her pleasure, Jack shifted his hold on her. He ran his fingers through her flaxen hair, which he discovered to be soft like a rabbit's, before taking a secure hold of her scalp, deepening the kiss, assaulting her mouth anew. His other hand, took a generous handful of that backside he'd been so admiring, pressing her quivering hips to his swollen organ. The friction this caused was exquisite for them both.

"_Now that be a twist'd motherfucker!_" Kristy reappeared, the lines that defined her ghostly form fuzzier than usual. "_Was it jus-whoa!_" she shrieked at the embracing couple, "_Jesus, what I miss!_"

Maren's world reeled back into focus. This new craving was akin to her second sight, in that she was utterly consumed by Jack's charisma, completely lost as to where he started and she stopped. Yet, with the embarrassment of Kristy witnessing her wanton behavior, though Kristy certainly wasn't one to judge, Maren lurched away, bracing her arms against his chest and pushing with all her might. "Eh, I said no sportin'!" she breathlessly growled.

Securing his grip around her waist, Jack heaved her up, spinning merrily, that drunken grin usurping his face, "And I said no promises!" Maren squealed, dizzy from his twirling, her feet dangling like a rag doll, searching for floor. "Miracles be thy name Maren!" without warning Jack relinquished his hold, sprawling Maren into the wall. If Jack registered the heavy thud or her pained cry as she caught herself on the dresser, he didn't bother acknowledging it. He sang blithely instead, "WE PILLAGE! WE PLUNDER! WE RIFLE! WE DON'T GIVE A HOOT!" His footfalls were light considering he wore boots, as he danced about like a heathen worshipper, still humming that infernal song and conducting an unseen orchestra that he alone heard.

"_He's drunk!_"

"He's mad!"

"Aye that I am," he beckoned to Maren, she pinned herself to the wall, wary of his wild mood swings. "But ever notice the correlation between madness and brilliance? And I be so bloody brilliant even I be impressed with meself!" Jack howled at the ceiling. "This is goin' to work, it's _really_ goin' to work and you-," grasping her by the hand and pulling her away from the safety of the wall, Jack forced her into a careless waltz, "-you be the key to the puzzle, the final piece! Me bonnie, beautiful, bitch o' a barmaid!" Maren intended to reciprocate, but was too preoccupied with avoiding tripping over Jack's florid feet.

"If I was a religious man Maren," Jack cupped her face, her cheeks squishing upwards like a demented chipmunk and Jack bowed his head to rest his temple upon hers, "You be the answer to me prayers," he said still insanely happy. He chastely kissed the top of her crown, puckering his lips noisily. Then, like a cat distracted with string, he dropped her chin and paced to the door.

"Where…where are ye goin'?" dazed Maren followed.

"Have to go luv," flinging the door open, Jack existed backwards, "things to do and all."

"But what 'bouts-," Maren longed to say 'that kiss? That extraordinary, life-alterin', seducin', blood-boilin', divine enigma of sexuality that ye, Cap'n Jack Sparrow, and me, Miss Maren Attle, generat'd together not sixty seconds ago?' but her modesty obliged her to say, "-What 'bouts me money?"

"Aye, o' course," striding down the meager hallway, Jack slapped his brow and Maren raised her skirts to keep speed behind Jack. "Next I return, I'll bring ye the dead man's favorite possession and for ye," Jack halted at the top of the stairs, faking deep contemplation, his fingers stroking his beard. "Suppose one hundred crowns should do quite nicely," clambering down the stairs, he abandoned her to astonishment.

"One hundred crowns…" her heart pounding, Maren muttered flabbergasted, before sprinting after Jack, "Jack wait!"

"_Well I be mount'd by a dog…_" had Kristy technically still had a bladder, she probably would have wet herself. She compensated by sinking through the floor, "_Wouldn't ye know it? I'm finally wealthy and too bleedin' dead to appreciate it proper!_"

"Yes me gel?" Jack turned at the entrance to the pub arms spread to her.

She paused, suddenly shy to address him so directly, "I…I guess I be wishin' to thank ye. And Kristy thanks ye too," Maren noticed Kristy performing a jig among the local drunks. "And…and when will I sees ye again?" her blush blazed like flame upon her skin, Jack's smile was as devious as an incubus.

"I imagin' we be meetin' 'gain very soon," Jack gracefully claimed her hand, pressing a warm kiss with the slightest touch of his nimble tongue upon her wrist. His dark eyes never left her lighted ones and she shivered, mouth agape. "Escort me out, Maren?" he proffered his elbow and in numb bliss, she accepted.

"All right ye pissers!" he bellowed, entering the pub with lady in tow. Gibbs and the three pirates bounced to their feet from their table, "Good news lads, I be callin' it a night, shore leave for everyone!" Delight and trouble dripped from every grin and jeer the crew of the Black Pearl expressed at this generous news. "But 'fore ye go burnin' Tortuga to the ground," even Jack couldn't veil the mischief in his voice, "we best fetch the _blacksmith_ to fix the _brig_." Instantly, the merriment faded and the pirates, now serious, trailed behind Jack and Maren to the street door.

A prickly vibe coursed through Kristy's shade. She stopped her leaping to wonder at the pirate's demeanor, "_I reckons them sea fags just used some sort o' pirate code, eh Pet?_"

Maren ignored her, which one was apt to do with a personally permanent life commentator, focusing all her awestruck attention on the pirate captain who beamed down on her. 'Cap'n Jack Sparrow,' she pondered girlishly, 'who would have dream'd he'd end up bein' me savior from this swallow…me benefactor definitely…me knight in shinin' armor perhaps?'

"_Eh Pet?_"

"Just one more thing, Maren," Jack stepped between her and the exit, finger pressed against his pursed lips, as if some revelation had just dictated itself. Maren peered up at him, engrossed and attentive, "Would ye happen to be interest'd in an epic adventure o' infamy and mystery, existin' moment for moment upon the wind in the sails, bravin' quests as deadly as they be dangerous, laughin' at lightenin' storms upon the horizon, seizin' the present like a sword, survivin' by the hiss of a cannonball, stealin' the very fruit of temptation straight from the tree and tastin' its sweet juices, all to conquer and claim the final destination of a legendary treasure and eminence beyond ye wildest fantasies?" He calmly said this, straight in one breath.

Reality and practicality rudely crashed, awakening Maren from her enchantment. "Not a chance in hell Cap'n Sparrow," her blue eyes rolled.

Jack sneered, but not cruelly, "Thought ye might say that." His gaze shifted over Maren's shoulder, "Boys?" he inquired politely.

Maren's forehead furrowed in confusion for a split second-

Before the pirate behind her gagged her with a filthy rag. Another clamped her arms in one powerful fist, binding them together roughly behind her back with chafing twine. She finally screamed, but failed, muffled by the gag. Panic muted the desperate yells of Kristy, shrieking to fight, to fight for her life! Vainly she thrust her weight against the pirate that captured her, attempting to run, but was shaken warningly.

"Forgot to tell ye, luv," Jack leered gleefully "Not a bloody thing that ever belong'd to the late Cap'n Romulus is above twenty leagues under the sea! There's no personal affects o' his left. So-," forcing a demanding kiss against her restrained lips, Jack whispered, hot breath caressing her mouth, "I have no choice but to insist upon ye presence aboard the Black Pearl and her sequential voyage to Rommie's hauntin' place, savvy?" His smug chortle made her face burn with humiliation.

'Watch this now, Kristy,' Maren bit out soundlessly, the vengeance in her thoughts pacified the wailing ghost who quieted.

In later years, locals referred to the historic incident with foreboding as 'the Kick Heard Round the World'.

Maren was successful in swinging her foot backward, gaining a considerable amount of leverage before hoisting her frame forward, her leg speeding with propulsion from gravity, mass, and every muscle her body could muster, and colliding solidly with a heavenly "oof!" bulls eyed directly into Jack's prized, if not lengthy, manhood.

As Kristy would have said, right in the sociables!

No one made a sound.

To Jack's credit, he didn't collapse and refused to cry, but both prospects were sorely tempting. He compromised with doubling over, wheezing in agonizing misery. Black spots sprouted before his eyes and vaguely he heard that damned woman chuckling, satisfied from behind her gag. "…" he choked out, his throat sealed shut, lest he scream in pain. One hand tucked securely around his crotch, the other waving at the stupid pirate with the sack, Jack's face paled eerily and he felt nauseous. He solemnly vowed that if he were sick, he'd retch all over that pretty face of hers!

Blessedly, Gibbs took charge. "Get the sack on her, ye daft bastard! And Christ's sake, beware o' them legs!" Maren tried to renew her assault, but a smelly sack blackened her vision and covered her from head to toe. Her world flipped upside down, literally, when the largest of the three crewmembers hoisted the bag upward and over his shoulder. Disoriented and in the dark, Maren discovered, with sinking hopes, that she had no room to maneuver. Panic spawned with her fear, until Kristy's voice spoke in her ear, calming and focusing, keeping her temper sparked like an angry, familiar fire. Maren surrendered herself to the only thing she could, screeching like an irate banshee around her gag.

Eventually, Jack inched himself into a standing position. His color returned and the grin, but his strut wasn't as flamboyant as before, mindful of a certain tenderness at his core. Gibbs and the others looked at him expectantly. "I'm not sure I deserv'd that," Jack finally spoke and the crew, very much relieved that there was no permanent damage, laughed loudly.

"Quits your daydreamin' and lets get movin'!" Cap'n Sparrow ordered gruffly, immediately the pirates filed out. Jack was the last to leave and he spun about, removing his hat and saluted grandly to the ancient tamers of the sea, before taking his leave of the 'Siren's Drink'. Echoing, his voice belted along the alleyway, "YO HO! A PIRATE'S LIFE FOR ME!" truth be told, it was a little more tenor than before.

There was a few minutes of absolute silence, until Old Buckman, who had waited the fiasco out in a dark corner of the pub, shuffled uncertainly, eyes darting this way and that, before sneaking behind the bar and reaching one shaky spotted hand towards a whiskey bottle.

"Buck, get out o' there!" the barmaid known as Helen arrived to start her shift. "I should skin ye alive for showin' ye face here, for all the money ye o' the tab! Get ye daft bugger, get!" Old Buckman returned to his corner shame-faced. Helen began her routine of chores, but abruptly halted… "Where's Maren?"

The elderly sailors dutifully stared at their drinks.


	5. In the Brig

_Chapter Five: In the Brig_

Groggily, Maren awoke, totally dumbstruck as to why her bed was lurching to and fro. 'Kristiiieee!' she whined pitifully, 'Am I drunk?'

While there were several monumental inconveniences to being deceased, no food, sex, or liquor dominating the list, there are also a few advantages, spying on naked people, no taxes, and sleep is not mandatory or even possible, therefore, no drowsiness, fatigue, or those first few seconds of bewilderment, such as, "Where am I? Who is this? And dear God, why is he so ugly!" With her extra hours of permanent insomnia, Kristy had been wandering the lower decks of the Black Pearl, eavesdropping on pirates, and discovering that very little interesting or informational ever happened down below. She wished she could look straight into the horse's mouth, Sparrow's quarters, and decipher his plans first hand, but she didn't dare roam too far. Maren was vulnerable, asleep in the brig all alone. Kristy was guarding the door like the notorious mother bear, but fortunately, Maren remained undisturbed.

But now that she was roused, "_No Pet, but ye be wishin' ye were._"

Still dazed and tired, Maren sat up in her bed…no not her bed at all! The fog of slumber evaporated in light of adrenaline and memory…Sparrow…kidnapped…Black Pearl! "Oh shit," she flopped back to the crooked cot in the brig, "It was'n a dream!"

0000000

Maren was doubled over on herself, upside down, and still hanging like butcher meat in a sack, being hoisted about by a pirate thug. The blood was pooling in her brain and her feet were achingly numb. Her attempts to attract attention to her situation were futile. Only in Tortuga, could five conspicuous pirates, one with a screeching and thrashing bag thrown over his shoulder, stroll along the streets unnoticed, in fact, many pedestrians closed their eyes and dashed inside to ensure they deliberately didn't notice. At least Kristy had some colorful phrases to hurl after them; the petty detail that none of her victims could hear her foul insults seemed inconsequential.

And then there was Cap'n Jack Sparrow! Nailing up the final insult, singing that confounded anthem about the merits of piracy in deafening proportions. 'I do'n think he's half as drunk as he acts,' her physical words were gagged, but her psychic communication was loud and clear.

"_Pretty sharp, eh?_" Kristy floated among the pirates, she'd been informing Maren on their direction and occasionally conserving enough concentration to touch one of the crew, spreading cold gooseflesh over his skin.

'Ye sure ye do'n mean pretty daft?'

"_I sure,_" from the sack, Maren could hear the thud of their party's boots become thumps, "_We're on the pier,_" Kristy supplied, then continued, "_Would ye look at all them blokes steppin' 'side for Jack like he be the king o' sometin'?_"

'I can't _look_,' Maren bit out, 'on account of this BAG on me head!'

"_Figure o' speech and ye knows it,_" snapped Kristy, "_And are'n yer knickers in a twist!_"

'What can I say?' sarcasm dripping, 'Bein' kidnapp'd by pirates brings out the worst in me!' Perhaps regretting the spat or still irritated by it, they lulled into silence. Maren's thoughts danced on the horizon of her mind's fantasy. Nostalgic childhood dreams sprang like up like daisies. Wasn't this the scene when a handsome young hero was supposed to swoop down and rescue her, virile and splendid in all his courageous glory? Her heart imagined a lithe fellow, fair in looks, nobly drawing his blade, proclaiming in a chivalrous voice his quest to liberate the Maid Maren. Gallantly, he'd strike the notorious Captain Sparrow dead and defeat his grimy ensemble. He'd vow his eternal love for her, carrying her away forever…

Reality encroached upon her imaginings, even if there were such a man, which having a prostitute as a mentor and serving sailors in a pub guaranteed she wasn't naïve enough to consider anything so preposterous to be true, crossing blades with Jack would certainly be the death of him. Jack's swordplay was notorious as the Black Pearl herself. Well, a girl could dream, couldn't she?

A gasp sounded from Kristy, "_Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,_" she murmured.

'What 'tis it?' anxious, Maren strained to see through the scratchy threads of the sack.

"_'Tis the Black Pearl,_" the vast ship was breathtaking. It loomed mighty and beautiful above the other boats, dwarfed by her beauty and craftsmanship. Her black sails shimmered like silk in the sea breeze. Every railing, every pane, and every panel was carved with meticulous detail, illustrating the dedication of marble artisans. The dark wood, not stained or painted as was commonly surmised, but natural and rare in shade, glimmered under bright moonlight. Beyond the sheen of her color and flap of her sails, pulsed a jolt of passionate speed. Anchored and docked, she still seemed to be defiantly taming the waves, sailing swiftly somehow, like pooled quicksilver. The Black Pearl was as fierce and alive as a galloping mare.

A winged woman served as the wooden figurehead, her face unfathomable in expression. She stared over them with blank eyes and Kristy nervously hustled past. Ghosts have a keen intuition for recognizing other unconventional forms of life and the Black Pearl was faintly sentient on some small level. It was disconcerting, Kristy decided.

"All men on deck! Capt'n aboard!" above them, a harsh cry fell from the crow's nest on spotting Jack. A herd of footsteps erupted, all assembling around the center mast, but from this angle Kristy saw little and Maren, of course, saw nothing.

Jack, walked casually up the ramp to his beloved ship, admiring her expensive repairs, improvements, and renovations that had devoured a costly portion of his treasure horde, but she was worth ten times more to Jack. The despairing years she had sailed under the mutineer Barbossa had been cruel to her. Apparently the undead were incapable of tending to even her basic needs. They certainly didn't love her like Jack did. Oh yes, he'd heard the comparisons of ships to lovers but the thought made his mind retch with the blasphemy of it. A ship was too holy to be brought on the same mundane level as a mortal woman, she was his divine angel, his Virgin Mary, his patron saint, to be worshipped and served with endless devotion. For ten torturous years, he had been an orphaned child separated from his mother, but never again!

Reverently, Jack placed a tender kiss upon his fingertips and gently tapped the railing as he boarded his awaiting vessel. Kristy felt the ship _welcoming_ him and shuddered for it was unsettling.

"Attention! Cap'n's on command!" a female shout rang over the crew, they stiffened, alert and stoic.

'Who was that?'

"_Well drop to me knees,_" Kristy peered at the dark-skinned woman, "_It be a lady pirate!_"

'Positive? Maybe she's a prisoner too,' Maren asked hopefully, misery loves company.

Studying the men's ragged clothing she wore comfortably and assorted charms, not to mention the brute demeanor, Kristy nodded, "_Positive, o' she be the Queen o' Lesbos herself._"

The pirate captain marched to the upper deck, his first mate and the pirate in possession of Maren stalked behind. With all the regality of royalty Jack addressed his men, "Me apologies me constant and loyal crew," Jack's slurring dissipated and the authority in his voice was hard enough to split wood. "No shore leave tonight," he paused, ears fiercely listening for any groans of malcontent, but if the crew was at all grieved, they wisely hid it. "Aye," proudly he projected, "that be me mates, always yearnin' for the sea. As ye all well know, Cap'n Romulus the Father of all Pirates'," the crewmembers all respectfully bowed their heads, those who bore them, removed their hats also, and one overzealous sailor took off his eye patch, "lost fortune has elud'd his devot'd and certainly enterprisin' sons for fifty years now. Fifty years, but I swear not one year more." Anticipated breaths were held in unison, "_They_ said 'twas a fool's errand, that the entire crew of the Alpha was swimmin' in Davey Jones' Locker, but _who_ tracked down the cabin boy?"

"Sparrow!" the pirate's chorused, feeding off of Jack's charisma.

"_They_ said 'twas madness," displaying his arms in a great open embrace, Jack propelled the perpetual enthusiasm, "that there be no such paradise land, but _who_ discover'd the Cap'n's grave?"

"Sparrow!" the echoes rang off the calm waters.

"_They_ said 'twas impossible to bypass the French garrisons of the north and outrun the Spanish fleet to the west, but _who_ did both and had time for tea?"

"Sparrow!" this strange choir beat their chests and clasped hands in pirate frenzy, hooting and cheering.

"And who will find Romulus' treasure!"

"Sparrow!" their voices screamed to all of the Caribbean, harsh but firm in effort.

"Aye," Jack said, "that I will, yet I want be doin' it 'lone, ye all will have the honor of claimin' history and fame, not to mention a considerable quantity of loot, plunder, and wealth with me," more affirmative ovations sounded. "On the morrow, the Black Pearl sets sail for La Cabra Robada, with a brief stop in Port Royale where about forty o' these," elaborately, Jack produced his sword from his sheath, blade situated upon his open palms, and presented the glinting weapon to his crew, now standing on the balls of their feet to better gander, "-await. The balance is perfection," tossing the sword to the air, Jack grabbed the handle and thrust, "the steal, the finest quality in the New World," another demonstration of languid slashes that swished in the wind, "and the architecture," Jack struck a taught rope, four inches in diameter and tightly woven, the blade cut through without hesitation, "flawless."

He sheathed the weapon, "It is my intention, that every man-," Anamaria whistled, "and woman," Jack didn't miss a beat, "of me crew will receive their own sword crested with the symbol of the Black Pearl herself, a gift from a proud and grateful cap'n." The pirates clapped their hands with all their strength. Their applause was adoring and genuine, it meant for more than the loud roar before.

Aided by deceptively false modesty, Jack gestured to the crewmembers for silence. "One more thing lads, then we prepare me ship for open ocean. We have a guest," Maren's world flipped again as the goon holding her emptied the sack. Somehow she managed to land on her arse rather than her head, but her tailbone still shot pain throughout her spine. Frantically, she attempted to regain her breath and free her legs from her tangled skirts; a familiar, jeweled hand abruptly interrupted her. Jack forcibly heaved Maren to her feet and dragged her by the elbow to the edge of the upper deck, before the crafted railing, and presented her to the assembly. Her nervous eyes searched for an escape, but paralyzed on the menacing pirates, panic freezing her coherency.

Enthusiastic catcalls and taunts wafted up, Jack held up one hand for quiet and the noises ceased but not the leers. "This fine lady," snickers escaped from noses, "be Miss Maren Attle and she's graciously accept'd me invitation to accompany us on our journey." Jack quickly interrupted any more jeers, "She be the medium I was lookin' for…so hands off." He finished lightly, as if he was requesting someone to pass the salt, but immediately the crew wiped the lust from their faces and embraced silence again. "Now get to work, ye lazy scalawags! We sail at first light, and by yer mothers, if it be but one minute later, I will personally flog every son o' a bitch here!"

As the pirates hastened to their appointed tasks, Jack passed the yielding Maren to Gibbs, "To the brig, Mister Gibbs, and make sure ye and me be the only ones with keys." Justifiably paranoid, Jack glanced around suspiciously. To Maren he endeared a smile and laid his hands upon her shoulders, "I be busy tonight, luv, but come mornin' I'll fetch ye. Try not to miss me too much," expectantly, Jack stepped back, narrowly avoiding another of Maren's devastating kicks. She was almost unbalanced by Gibbs, who tugged her stoutly to the stairs leading below. The last spectacle she saw from Jack that night was his lopsided smirk, shadowed by a blown kiss he saucily gave her as she disappeared from sight.

The brig, just recently repaired, was down a confusing number of halls and turns, lower and lower, to the very bowels of the ship. Gibbs, now noticeably gentler, escorted Maren into the cell closest to the brig door. The clang of the iron bars made her wince. The tiny prison was sparse, three pairs of black manacles drooped from the wall and one cot, bolted to the floor, stood in the corner, filthy blanket and thin pillow adorning it. Maren shivered miserably.

"If ye comes here and turns 'bout, I'll be untying them binds for ye," Gibbs said, concerned. Maren did as requested, back to the bars and hands accessible. Deftly, unraveling the sailor's knots, Gibbs awkwardly tried to comfort her, "Do'n ye fret ye pretty littl' head gel, Cap'n Sparrow's never hurt no woman. He wo'n even tolerate it from the crew, one of his requisites, ye could say. Ye perfectly safe and sound as long as ye on the Pearl."

The rope fell away from Maren's cramping wrists. Immediately, her hands sprang upward to tear the gag away from her aching jaw. Attentively, she stretched her sore mouth, "If ye would be so kind as to deliver an important message to Cap'n Sparrow?" Maren asked meekly.

"Yes?"

Snorting grotesquely, Maren spat onto Gibbs' face, the glob of mucus sliding down his stubbly cheek, "And tell him there's more where that came from!"

Kristy hid her face in her hands, "_Maren are ye tryin' to get yerself kill'd!_" In forethought, Maren briefly considered maybe she had overstepped her bounds. She wasn't exactly in the securest position to be liberally causing offence. The regret shown pitifully in her eyes, Gibbs struggled with pride and mercy before deciding his action.

To both Kristy and Maren's relief, Gibbs sighed like a martyr and wiped the rubbish from his face, "If it be all the same to ye, I'll just be keepin' this 'tween ye and me." He left the brig then, seemingly exhausted. A flash of guilt itched at Maren's stomach, after all Gibbs had been civil to her. Well, as civil as a pirate can be in the act of aiding and abetting a kidnapping.

The next few hours consisted of feeble attempts to loosen bars, unsuccessfully jimmying the lock, and piercingly rapping the manacles across the iron, screaming, "Let me OUT!" but Maren was purposely ignored. Only when the orders for casting off were shouted from above and the Black Pearl awakened like a giant, gradually rocking into motion, did Maren finally collapse defeated upon the cot. She could feel the proverbially hangman's rope tightening around her neck.

"_It's sunrise,_" Kristy said soothingly, "_Try and get a bit o' sleep, Pet. I'll keep watch for them bastards should they come._" Too tired to oppose both Kristy and slumber, Maren fell headlong into a consoling sleep.

0000000

Maren glared vengefully at the ceiling above the stinking cot. What was she to do? Captured by pirates, aboard the Black Pearl, and miles from land. There was meager little she could do. An alarming creak crept from the wood of her cot, distracting Maren momentarily from her abandonment.

_Crack!_

The two bottom legs of the flimsy cot broke, sprawling her to the cold floor. She lied there awhile in a heap, beaten. "I hate me life," Maren declared vehemently before lurching unsteadily up, dusting off her dress.


	6. Some Conditions

_Chapter Six: Some Conditions_

"I hate me life," Maren declared vehemently before lurching unsteadily up, dusting off her dress.

"_Maren, there's somethin' we needs to talk 'bout,_" unusually serious, Kristy absentmindedly fidgeted her ghost fingers through the iron bars.

'Oh I do'n know if I can be sparin' the time me dear,' Maren retorted playfully, trying to lighten the mood 'Me social calendar is just teamin' with prior engagements.'

"_Be serious now,_" but Kristy still smiled, "_this is bloomin' important._"

'Well out with it.'

"_That pirate spook Jack kill'd,_" suddenly the room chilled, the same topic had been aggravating Maren, "_He was…different, was'n he?_"

Maren conceded a nod and spoke quietly, 'Aye, he was. Can't be puttin' me finger precisely on it, but it be like he _experience'd _maybe.' Shaking her head lightly to organize her thoughts, 'Yet, I'm positive he's littl' more than two years dead, tops. Do'n make no sense for Barbossa to be so aware for a ghost just off the choppin' block.'

"_That's the wanker's name then, Barbossa?_"

Another distracted nod, 'The first impression I got was Cap'n Barbossa, however he seemed awfully deceptive 'bout the title, 'twas some kind o' lie, sure o' it.' The dead always eagerly supplied their names to Maren, desperate for confirmation on their existence.

"_He…saw me,_" Kristy hesitated.

'No haunt's ever seen ye,' stubbornly Maren pointed out.

"_Well Barbossa did, look'd right at me, I swears it!_" shuddering, Kristy wrapped two phantom arms around herself, "_Appear'd to be somewhat confus'd at first, not knowin' what to make o' me. I think it dawn'd on him soon 'nough though, 'cause he smil'd at me, bugger tipp'd his hat and everythin'!_"

The brig door bursting open ended the conversation, "Rise 'n shine me precious barmaid!" Jack greeted, radiant and charming as ever, "Brought ye a late breakfast, sorry for me tardiness, ship to run and all." A skinny boy of around thirteen followed, bearing a tray of gruel, sausages, and water. At Jack's wink, he nervously approached Maren's cell and slid the tray under the door.

"Ye…um..er breakfast, madam," the boys prominent ears colored redder than his hair and his freckles disappeared.

"Miss," Jack paternally corrected.

The panic blushed the boy purple, and he explained desperately, "I means miss, yer breakfast miss."

Maren stared at Jack's smugness, the modest meal on the floor, and the boy so anxiously twitching it might have been a serious health condition. Indulging in some charitable pity, Maren gingerly picked up the tray, oblivious to the fact both Jack and the pirate boy cocked their heads to angle their eyes down her bodice. She glanced uncertainly about, deducing the broken cot to be the only sitting place. Carefully she sat atop the side where the legs still stood, mindful of any sign of it braking. Satisfied her seat was adequate, Maren laid the tray upon her lap. A polite smile bloomed her attractive features into loveliness, "Thank ye kindly me lad, it be a fine breakfast."

"Welcome! Yer very, very welcome!" he bowed clumsily, but with rapture lighting his face.

"All right, to the mess with ye now," Jack ruffled his red hair.

"Aye Cap'n Sparrow!" the youth sprang away, keeping his eager eyes on Maren as long as possible.

The instant he vanished from sight, Maren disregarded the tray and stood defiantly, glaring straight at Jack. "Aye Nathan's a good boy," Jack still gazed at the door, "How long he see ye, eh? Ten seconds? Fifteen tops, yet the whelp hasn't stopp'd gabbin' 'bout ye since last night. Drivin' the men crazy, 'Miss Attle lonely, ye reckon? How old ye figure Miss Attle be? Miss Attle mention a fellow back in Tortuga?' on and on! Ten pounds says that boy be havin' a dream or two 'bout ye tonight."

"I think he's sweet!" sharply, Maren jumped to the boy's defense.

"Aye a good boy, almost piss'd hiself when I told him to fetch ye grub. Figur'd he could use a treat," Jack flashed his kohl-lined eyes to Maren, and said mock-secretly, "Do'n let on like ye know, but our littl' Nathan fancies ye a wee bit," Jack slurred, propping his elbow on the bars and leaning languidly, "Truth be told, he's not the only one." Pointedly, he raked his brown eyes appreciatively over Maren's form.

Suffocating, the blush that threatened to spill forth, Maren erupted in desperation, "Cap'n Sparrow please!" her small hands grasped the lapels of his jacket through the bars, "Please let me go! I'm beggin' ye to do the right thing."

Amused Jack pried her fingers off his person, keeping those graceful hands in his calloused ones, "Never do the right thing lass, never do the wrong thing either. I only do me own thing, less confusin' that way, none o' me things gettin' mix'd up with anybody else's things. Keep things simple!" Maren blinked, replaying his quote again, seeing if it made more sense the second time around, it didn't. Vehemently, she tore her hands away from his caress, hating the warm tingle that the purest contact had made. "Ye pretty when ye beggin'," Jack stated plainly.

"_Told ye mum the same thing last night,_" Kristy interjected.

Maren laughed, earning a curious quipped eyebrow from Jack. Biting her tongue, Maren suppressed her smile poorly, "It be Kristy, she…occasionally puts in her two pence."

"She always 'round?" his eyes spanned the room.

"Usually," Maren answered evasively.

"Usually," he repeated slowly. "Maren, I thinks we be needin' to have a us a conversation and comes to some sort o' agreement," removing the cell keys from his pocket, Jack jingled them suggestively, "less ye be preferin' the brig."

He was letting her out? Maren's heart hammered in her chest, hope soaring higher than Jack's ego. If she could walk freely aboard the Black Pearl, she might succeed in escape. Perhaps signaling a passing ship or swimming for land, as soon as it was sighted that is. At the very least, she might negotiate a bed that wasn't busted. "I'm listening," Maren kept her eyes half-lidded, praying she appeared timid and demure. To Jack's wanton libido, she looked flirtatious and sexy. He dared to wish that Maren would attempt to seduce him, putting those generous curves of hers to proper use, namely Jack's use.

"I suppose I should begins with an apology-,"

"_Damn straight!_"

"Damn straight!" Maren and Kristy affirmed in unison.

Jack's cheery grin evaporated and he blankly stared at Maren until he was sure she had resigned herself to silence. It wasn't the apology that bothered Jack, 'sorry's were meaningless to him and often proclaimed if it furthered his own objectives. It was the interruption that upset him, having to put up with Anamaria's snide comments was difficult enough, but not Maren's too. He was a captain and no one should interrupt him plain and simple! 'Women,' Jack reflected, 'not happy unless they puttin' a man in his place, which be below them!'

To Maren he continued, "Apologizin' for not affordin' ye more time that is. Aye, I would have liked to have givin' ye me proposal, then grant'd ye the liberty o' a few days to debate yerself. To analyze yer destitute situation in Tortuga, sum up the despondency of your life as a workin' pub-wench, and so on and so forth. And after that allott'd timeframe, I'm positive I would have discover'd ye arrivin' promptly at me door, ready and willin' to test yer fate to adventure, fame, and wealth, choosin' thus independently and absolutely of yer own accord." He said it so casually, so matter-of-fact, it set Maren's teeth on edge, "Sadly, I just did'n have the time to permit ye that self-discovery." The charms in his hair clinked together as he exaggerated a shrug, "Couldn't risk anyone else seizin' me newest acquisition." Extending a flamboyant arm through the bars, Jack flicked a stray hair away from her face. Sickly, Maren realized he considered her to be his 'newest acquisition'.

"_Bite that bitch tongue o' yers, Pet,_" Kristy interceded, "_Just do what ye got to do to get outs of this cage!_"

Inhaling a raggedly calming breath, Maren counted to ten before eating her pride and saying through clenched jaw, "Apology accept'd Jack." The use of his first name seemed to gratify Jack and he clapped his flashing hands in satisfaction.

"Now then, that's out o' the way, let's get down to the meat o' the subject, shall we?" he stuck the key into the lock but failed to twist it. Instead, he teasingly fondled the keys, "Some conditions before I be settin' ye free…Maren." The lewd indications he could shove into a single word could have filled hell to the brim.

"Name them," she said warily.

"First, never ever kick me in me jewels again!"

"Keep yer jewels to yerself and no problems!"

A brief staring contest ensued, deep blue eyes clashing with brilliant brown ones. Reluctantly, Maren lowered her gaze into that enticing expression that Jack appreciated so much. She might have lost the battle, but definitely not the war. "In fact, I must insist that ye not be harmin' me o' any member o' me crew, savvy?"

"Understood, on the provision they do'n be harmin' me," Maren added.

"Fair 'nough," conceded Jack. "Second no sabotage o' vandalism, ye the type o' wench to hold a grudge and I will have none o' it!" Maren huffed at the insult, but he ignored her, "I gets cranky when me Pearl is hurtin'. Ye respect her, agreed?"

"Agreed," sarcastically Maren stretched out her palm to pet the hull of the ship.

This pleased Jack immensely, which stunned Maren, considering she was teasing him, "That's right luv, the two o' ye will get 'long just dandy, I knows it!"

Kristy glanced nervously around. Cringing, she sensed the ship agree with Jack, in some vague way. "_Bloody boats should not be thinkin'!_" she muttered quietly.

"Third, ye mind ye manners! Do'n be forgettin' whose Cap'n here. There's to be no sass in front o' the men, obey me orders, and did I mention no kickin' me in me jewels?" Jack pointed his finger at her, a feminine pinkie lifted.

"Aye, ye did," her eyes rolled, "and as for esteemin' the Cap'n, ye be polite, I be polite, fair and square." Jack made to continue, but Maren hastily included, "And I'll only be obeyin' them orders if they be _reasonable_!"

"Reasonable be a subjective term, me dear," he murmured to himself, licking his lips, "But we can iron out the technicals later." A noisy _clack_ sounded as Jack turned the key and the lock sprang open. Jack swaggered into the cell with Maren, cocky as a rooster.

Identical to the first time he grabbed her, Jack clasped her arms too swiftly for Maren to resist and drew her forward till there was but a breath between them. Suddenly all the slurring, swaying, and smiling was gone, only a severe expression that subjected Maren to forceful scrutiny remained. Very seriously Jack said, "Me last condition, under no circumstance do ye ever discuss the workings o' the details o' yer gifts to anyone. Not anyone, by God. Not even me first mate, not the cabin boy, ye secrets are for me 'lone. Swear it."

"I…swear," Maren promised, so intimidated by Jack, she'd have pledged the moon.

"By yer late father," persisted Jack, "swear it."

Maren wavered for a moment, futilely defying Jack's possession of her, she failed, "By the restin' spirit o' me father, David Attle, I swear it…Cap'n Sparrow."

"Excellent!" the atmosphere instantly changed. Jack released her and existed the cell motioning her to follow. Suspiciously, she walked out, guarding against any of Jack's tricks. "O' course, ye'll be immediately notifyin' me if any o' me crew starts askin' 'bouts yer powers, savvy? No matter how innocent o' who it is, I be needin' to know." It was difficult to concentrate on Jack's words when his hands had minds of their own, flitting this way, fluttering that, always illustrating his points.

"Do ye not trust them?" Maren solicited slyly, crossing her arms before her chest.

"Not a matter o' trustin, sweetheart," though he smiled with that drunken grin, she saw a hidden sadness in him, thick like blood and just as violent. "It be a matter o' bein' Cap'n is all, I know things they do'n, that's how it works, tried and true." A memory not entirely Maren's stirred, yet vanished rapidly to obscurity.

She studied him a moment before deciding, "I be havin' me own conditions, too Jack."

"Besides yer freedom from the brig?"

"Ye want me compliant, do'n ye? Well, certain things need addressin'"

"Compliant? Ye!" Jack laughed, "Bet ye do'n even know the meanin' o' the word!" He sidestepped behind Maren to shut the cell door behind her and resigned himself to her whims, "If it makes ye happy, let's hear them."

"First," a finger numbering off on her right hand was shoved into Jack's face, forcing him to look cross-eyed at the offending digit, "ye goin' tell me exactly what's happenin' here-in detail!" Maren cut off Jack's disruption, "Beginnin' with this Father o' Pirates and endin' with la Cob Rod o' whatever Spanish gibberish ye said."

"La Cabra Robada," Jack rectified helpfully.

"Second, ye call'd me a guest and I intends to be treat'd like one," flinging the hair that had escaped her braid over her shoulder, Maren stuck her nose up, "Means decent quarters, by meself Jack," Jack snapped his fingers, while Maren noticed the breakfast tray still on the floor of the cell, "I be eatin' what ye eats too, not what ye crew eats, and drinks what ye drinks."

"Well I eat what me crew eats," a amiable pride decorated his statement, "Me drink is me own private stock though, however, I be willin' to share it with ye to ensure yer good temperament on this voyage. Come to think o' it," that devil's glint shined in his eyes, "I be insistin' ye dine with me every night in the Captain's quarters, wo'n take no for an answer."

"Third condition, no sportin'!" Maren stated hurriedly.

"_You be prude Pet,_" a hint of pleading seasoned Kristy's voice, "_Do'n be such an ice twat!_"

"Oh fine," Jack chuckled, "But I reserve the right to relent this condition if ever ye deem it unnecessary."

"Cold chance in hell, ye ever be evokin' that right," Maren again numbered off on her fingers, "Fourth condition, as ye said earlier, I aint playin' the barmaid pitch anymore, so I'm not servin' in the mess o' any such nonsense. Me profession aboard the Black Pearl is strictly a medium, if it do'n involves ghosts I aint doin' it!"

"So what yer insinuatin' is ye intends to spend the entire passage loungin' 'bouts in me guest quarters, drinkin' me liquor, eatin' me food, and never liftin' a finger? Do'n bode well with me lass," he _tsk_-ed, smoothly shaking his head. "This is'n a passenger boat ye know."

"And I aint no passenger either, I be the medium Jack. The 'last piece to the puzzle' and yer 'newest acquisition' and do'n be fogettin' 'miracle be thy name Maren'! Yer own words, so now I be markin' ye by them," her fists on her hips, Maren's memory was seriously starting to annoy Jack. "Seems me profession is quite important to the success o' yer mission, do'n think I'll be half as idle as I hope to be."

He glared at her silently, but not aggressively, only sizing things up, feeling which way the wind was blowing. One hand crossed over his torso prompting the other up by the elbow, while Jack twiddled his beaded beard. Again he relented, "Any more requests?" he asked courteously.

"One more," Maren, thrilled to a tizzy by the dizzying power she now wielded over Jack…the confident, clever, swaggering, and suddenly very attractive all over again, Captain Sparrow who was conceding to all her demands. She swayed in her own fashion up to Jack who lowered his arms to allow her room, arriving right under his nose and feeling the heat of his body radiating towards her. Angling her head upwards, as he humored her peering down, Maren lifted ever so slightly on her toes, so her mauve lips were a whisper away from his whiskered chin, "We renegotiate me payment."

"No."

"What?" frustrated, but cooling her temper, Maren continued to act the vamp, guessing this to be one of the very few ways to separate Jack from more of his gold.

"Said no," Jack sighed huskily, "we 'greed already, one hundred crowns."

"Aye we 'greed," Maren's vision accidentally dropped and remained transfixed by the tan skin peeking through the slit of his white linen shirt, traces of dark hair dusting it and she was but a few precious inches away. Mortified she heard Jack chuckle, he'd noticed her looking! The cursed flush began at her temple and rained down like water over her face, neck, and chest. Maren knew she was red as an apple and the embarrassment of blushing only made her blush more. It was a cruel whirlpool of color she was trapped in.

'Sweet siren, give me strength,' Jack semi-prayed to whomever would listen. The tempting little vixen had participated in his fantasy and was seducing him quite nicely. Oh, he saw the payment issue approaching from a mile away, but not the endearing way she breached the subject. Jack was barely restraining himself, when that devilish blush painted her skin and almost unmanned him! Every muscle in his body commanded Jack to throw her to the floor, tear those insulting rags off her goddess form, and take her, fuck her till that sassy mouth of hers was speechless, only crying out with inaudible moans and groans for Jack, all just for Jack.

"Course I only 'greed to one hundred crowns for the service o' ye returnin' with the dead man's personal affects," Maren, still deliciously pink, fluttered her lashes innocently, Jack's hand twitched by his side, barely controlled. "Prices are considerably higher for a personal onsite investigation to a hauntin' place."

"Really?" Jack permitted his face to lean closer to Maren's, but he couldn't allow a touch just yet, "That's fascinatin'."

"Aye," Maren bantered flirtatiously, "One must be takin' into consideration distance, the manner o' haunt, how long it's been deceas'd. Them all factors for determinin' the fee, 'tis standard marketing practice."

"If that be the case, then I suppose our original contract does not apply," finally, he let his fingertips gently caress tickling paths up Maren's arms to languish temptingly on her shoulders.

"'Fraid not," one shaking hand laid upon Jack's chest, Maren's fingers and palm rested against his shirt, but one tantalizing thumb touched the bare flesh of his chest.

"Then I believe ye're correct Miss Attle, a renegotiation o' yer payment be in order…tonight, after dinner."

"Damn straight!" receiving what she wanted at last, Maren shouted rudely in his face, abruptly turning around so fast her braid whipped Jack who now stood stunned. All the fiery pressure dispersed from the room. "And do'n be forgettin ye settl'd to tell me about Cap'n Romulus and the Alpha and whatnot. First we talks 'bouts this treasure, then I'll deduce me fee! Now ye goin' to play steward o' ye goin' send for someone to take me to me room?" without waiting for a reply, Maren stormed out of the brig, determinedly heading towards the top deck.

"_Ah! The art o' the tease, the virgin's revenge!_" Kristy glided after Maren, pitifully glancing back at Jack.

"She…that," he huffed still flabbergasted. And when no action presented itself, he huffed again. "That…littl'…how dare she _tease_ me! I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow, no one _teases_ me!" each time he uttered that demon word, he spat vengefully. "I'll show her, think some silly maid can twist me balls blue and get away with it? Hell no!" his arms flailed about dramatically as his voice ascended from confounded mutters to irate yells, "Two can play that game, me temptress, I practically invent'd the phrase 'sexual tension'!" Contrary to popular belief, Jack never talked to himself; he just talked to whoever might be listening. In this instance, the Black Pearl listened, she always heard Jack.

Huffing again, because three times a charm, Jack adjusted the diminishing erection in his trousers, before bursting out of the brig and hollering, "Gibbs! Giiii-aaa-iiiibbbss!"


	7. Day One

_Chapter Seven: Day One_

"Kristy lookie!" Maren gibbered like a child to her mother, and in truth, this phantom whore was the closest thing to a mother Maren had ever known, "I be getting' the hang o' it." Unsteadily, Maren wobbled about her cabin, arms stretched out, mastering the art of sea legs. A couple of sturdy currents had toppled her earlier, but her confidence was surely growing.

The Black Pearl's newest residential ghost was having problems with her own 'sea legs'. Every lurch or shift of the ground sunk Kristy's wraith feet through the floor or hovering a few inches in the air. Floating wasn't as uncomfortable as sinking, the coagulating chill of a solid object was, though tolerable, peculiar and disconcerting. Consequently, Kristy was constantly readjusting her transparent form to stand upon the floor properly. She was also progressing, subconsciously predicting the fluctuations of movement and altering accordingly.

The guest quarters Maren had bartered for were phenomenal, beyond expectation, especially aboard a pirate ship. It was a little cramped, but then, so was her flat back in Tortuga. All the furniture was crafted from a deep red wood, the specific tree Maren didn't know, not having a lot of experience with the finer things in life. The linens were cotton, soft and crisp. But the superlative attraction was an elegant vanity, the mirror round in shape and large in diameter. If Maren stood far enough across the room, she could see her entire reflection and for a woman who's has only possessed a tiny hand mirror at most, the full-length image of her self seemed a luxuriant necessity she never knew she required. Well, thing certainly could be worse, it was a comfortable prison at least.

0000000

Briefly, after her tantrum leaving the brig, Maren had managed to navigate herself back to the top deck. Several pirates at work paused to stare at her curiously, but she dismissed them, after all, hadn't Jack ordered no one was to lay a hand on her? Why should they intimidate her, when she had Cap'n Sparrow's endorsement and protection? This gave her a moment's hesitation, 'protection' she mulled over. Yes, the dread pirate captain had thus far kept his word, Maren was unharmed and apparently Jack intended her to remain that way. A pang of sentiment began to stir for Jack.

Maren wasn't naïve by any stretch of the word. She heard the horror stories many times about pirates and their infamous cruelty. Nevertheless, last night had been her first night held captive on a pirate ship and she was amazed that she wasn't raped, murdered, and floating in the waves somewhere. Perhaps this was a gross exaggeration from greedy merchants embittered by too many plundered expeditions? Maren doubted it. Those terrible accounts were as honest as a priest on his deathbed, Maren knew. But not necessarily true for Jack or the Black Pearl. They were different, singularly original. Though it begrudged her to admit it, even to herself, Maren was safe here.

'Yet,' the pessimist in her griped, 'Be his fault I'm in this predicament to begin with! Why should I be grateful for a kidnappin'? Even a secure one?'

"_'Cause this be no kidnappin' anymore,_" Krisy hovered adjacent to Maren, both hypnotized, peering out at the blue horizon. "_It be opportunity knockin' at yer door, treasure for the claimin', opulence to be lavished, and besides…I bet Jack's hung like a horse, oh please, please, go check!_" eager jumps punctuated each of her begging words. "_If ye ask him, he be droppin' them trousers before ye can even say 'give us a peek'!_"

'Yer positively lecherous, ye know that?' Maren leaned against the railing, marveling at the sheer drop to the surface of the ocean.

"_Suit yerself then, I'll just mosey 'long to the captain's cabin 'round dressin' time sans ye._"

"Must ye spy on persons in the buff?"

"_What the bleedin' else am I goin' to do? I'm dead! It's a littl' late to be startin' me memoirs!_"

"Miss Attle!" the first mate, Mister Gibbs, was jogging across deck, red-faced "Miss Attle, Cap'n says I'm to escort ye to yer new quarters pronto, 'fore he throws ye overboard!"

"Well the Cap'n," she struggled with her attitude, reciting the requirements of her freedom, 'no sassin' Jack in front o' the men,' to herself, "be fortunate that I'm in the mood to retire to me cabin o' I'd have takin' him to the waters with me." There, that wasn't that bad. Neck arched like nobility, Maren strode next to Gibbs, keeping in step with him.

"Ye tethered him up in a fix," Gibbs said conversationally, "What'd do to stoke his fires?"

"_More like what she did'n stoke, Mister Gibbs._"

"I be completely innocent o' whatever he accus'd me o'," Maren clasped her hands, resting upon her belly like a humble nun.

Grinning to himself, Gibbs guided Maren below one flight of stairs and down a low and narrow hallway well lit by lamps. "Right here's for honored guests only," Gibbs chivalrously presented a thick, heavy door. "Ye know lass," prior to opening the door, Gibbs peered carefully at Maren, "not just anybody gets to be residin' in this room. No, ye gots to be prestigious and valuable and to top it off, Jack has to like ye, I mean _really_ like ye. Needless to say, Jack's pretty damn particular on who he likes and who he does'n. Deem yerself fortunate, he likes ye."

"Why Mister Gibbs," Maren squeezed his arm childishly, "I think ye be lookin' out for me."

"Deem yerself fortunate, I likes ye too," chuckling, he swung the door open and as it creaked, he entered the cabin and set upon the windows. While Maren marveled at the room, Gibbs fumbled with the boarded shutters, wrenching them open with a satisfying _thwack_. The blinding sunlight caressed the red wood surfaces and cotton linens.

"How lovely," dazed, Maren smiled.

"Well gel," Gibbs wiped sweat off his brow and onto his sleeve, "Must be leavin', but I'll sends someone 'round to give ye the grand tour soon 'nough." As a second thought, Gibbs furthered, "Please stay here, there's a whole heap o' trouble to be had."

"Hurricane's couldn't move me," she saluted. Thus assured, Gibbs disappeared down the hall, "Wait Mister Gibbs!" and reappeared. "I just…thank ye for bein' such a gentleman, well…such a gentleman under these circumstances. And I be sorry 'bout-," loosely she gestured to her cheek where her spit had hit Gibbs last night.

Slightly vindicated, the old pirate scratched his head ineptly, "Not a second thought on the subject Miss Attle, was the sweetest spit that's ever made contact with this old mug." Embarrassed by her compliments, Gibbs hurriedly exited.

"Please call me Maren," her voice rang after him.

"Aye Maren," he hollered back, already a good deal away.

The next hour consisted of the pleasant task of familiarizing herself with her new quarters. This included searching every drawer thoroughly, discovering items then putting them to use, the brushes and toilet water were fun, and the grand finale, properly appreciating the feather mattress by sprinting up to the bed and flying, head first, into the downy softness, which Kristy had the nerve to call 'juvenile foolishness'. Around the fifth time Maren experimented with this last errand, she clumsily tripped and almost broke her skull. Perhaps, it was a tad immature, she agreed, now with a headache.

It was the cabin boy, Nathan, who fetched her to tour. After an initial period of blushing, stuttering, and boyhood humiliation, Nathan finally relaxed enough to at least become audible. Turned out, Nathan was a very bright and informative lad, past all those hormones. He boasted that only Cap'n Sparrow knew more about the Black Pearl then he did.

"How did ye come to be sailin' 'board the Pearl, Nathan?" they were in the ship's galley. Nathan had offered her food, but she accepted tea instead, her stomach still not entirely comfy with the rise and fall of the sea. She perched contentedly, sipping her tea.

"Me momma and me came from Ireland to Massachusetts as indentured servants to our landlord. After me mum died, I tried to weasel out o' the contract and when that did'n work, I just ran away. Did'n get far, constable caught me and drug me back. That's when I first met Cap'n Sparrow. He was in Boston hirin' these 'modern' carpenters for renovations to the Pearl, had the nerve to call themselves architects likes they were bulidin' castles o' somethin'! Anyway, me and the constable happen pass Jack just when I was callin' him a-," suddenly he slapped his hand over his mouth, horrified.

"Go 'head, Nathan, I be a barmaid. Ye ca'n say anythin' to me that I have'n seen tattooed on some bloke's arm!"

Nathan's face appeared so purple he might have been holding his breath, "Call'd him a rotten cocksucker, Miss Attle, and said his sister was better at it, maybe she should be givin' some advice," bashfully he kept his eyes on the floor.

"_Boy after me own heart,_" Kristy said proudly. The ghost was entertaining herself chasing rats about. Animals intuitively sense the dead and are always frightened into frenzy by their presence.

"So the constable licks me good, right on the back of me head, almost knock'd me silly," Nathan continued, "Then all o' a sudden, the constable's out cold and there's Cap'n Sparrow lowerin' his fist, grinnin' real friendly-like."

"One punch?" impressed, Maren covered her admiration for Jack's brawling in her cup.

"Just the one! He asks me, he says 'Ye already talks like a pirate, but can ye be one?'," he swayed and danced his hands about, a perfect imitation of Jack, "Said 'Aye sir!' and one year later here I am!"

Nathan introduced her to several of the more sociable crewmembers. Curiously, a mute man named Cotton had, of all things, a parrot to speak for him. Maren gushed girlish ah's and ooh's as she cradled the green bird in her hand. It was adorably nibbling her braid and spreading its bright feather to impress her, then Kristy whistled tauntingly. It wasn't that the dead woman didn't enjoy animals, she just enjoyed scaring them a lot more. Surprisingly, Mister Cotton's parrot only squawked incensed, "Three pence a blow, five pence a go! Three pence a blow, five pence a go, sailor boys!"

"_Thems were me rates!_" Kristy was astonished, "_How'd a litt' wing'd pecker discern that?_" Stifled snorts from Maren caused Kristy to explain defensively,"_Course inflation wasn't what it be today, them prices were quite expensive for a workin' wench from the block, I'll have ye know Miss Wisearse!_"

She also met a midget who once bit the heads off chickens in a freak show, Maren never knew a midget personally, a man who converted to Buddhism while in a Siamese prison, she never knew a Buddhist either, and a strapping lad of about twenty years who inquired if Maren had a corset that would fit him, and…well living among sailors Maren knew _many_ men who fell under this last category.

Finally, Nathan's outing brought Maren to the armaments and to the lady pirate, methodically measuring small piles of gunpowder on a monstrous crate. Maren had been anticipating this encounter, wishing for some female company on their journey, some _living_ female company that is.

"Anamaria," apparently Nathan had no qualms about communicating with this woman, "This here is Miss Maren Attle," offering a handshake, Maren smiled, "Miss Attle…Anamaria."

"To the devil with ye, ye stupid whelp!" the shriek was furious and Anamaria appeared tenfold more livid, "Do'n be givin' me name to no witch, ye damned fool!" Nathan and Maren leapt backwards, escaping the erupting volcano of paroxysm. "God knows all the hexes she can be spellin' on me now!" her physical stature was lofty and lean muscles, still womanly in placement, rippled under her clothes. Maren teethed herself on street brawls with other waifs as a child and could take a punch from any manner of gypsy, streetwalker, or mugger, nonetheless, she was all too aware a physical altercation with Anamaria would result in one big painful defeat. The only sanctuary she hoped she had was Jack's orders to keep hands off of her. Certainly that would apply to _all_ the pirates, including the one female?

"Back to hell with ye, I'll not be toleratin' no voodoo 'board this ship!" Anamaria tore a predominantly smelly charm from around her neck, kissed it before ripping the woven material away, and sprinkling the pungent herbs and black soil it contained on the wooden floor. A cube of salt was yanked from her pocket and resolutely licked, then Anamarie spit three times upon the litter pile on the ground. Muttering something in Haitian French, she crossed herself, "Break that charm ye necromancer! I no scar'd o' ye!"

"Anamaria!" Mister Gibbs emerged from the doorway, to Maren, a gallant hero, "Cap'n said no more o' yer nonsense!" Stubbornly she crossed her arms and clenched her jaw, but no argument was forthcoming, Kristy suspected Anamaria was about to burst from the pressure of restraint. "Report to the galley, they always be needin' an extra pair o' hands."

"But I'm not finished with the powder yet and galley work's for the cabin boy," she grunted towards Nathan who snorted back.

"Wrong! Galley work be for any pirate that do'n obey commands and ye can come back and finish the powder after supper on yer own time! Now get, wo'n be tellin' ye twice!"

She stomped out, keeping a clear distance from Maren. At the door, she abruptly turned about and scathingly added, "Just to be quotin' the Cap'n directly, I believe he said, 'No more o' _our_ nonsense,' Mister Gibbs. By the way, that be a mighty fine _garlic_ cologne yer wearin'!" As her footsteps faded her words didn't. There was a definite underlying odor of garlic wafting around Gibbs.

Gibbs grinned nervously, while he removed the charm from under his shirt ashamed. "It's not ye, Maren," he clarified, "it's them _spooks_."

Kristy flared her nostrils, "_Garlic never ward'd me away from nothin', just makes me hungry somethin' awful…Jesus, I'd sod Lucifer hiself for a bite to eat!_" she included.

Staying silent, Maren's blue eyes were downcast and guarded. She should have expected this to happen, it always happened. The first mate sighed regretfully, "I'm sorry, I be a daft old sailor givin' into superstition…forgive me sweetheart?"

"Oh all right ye daft old sailor," Maren grudgingly shrugged the matter off, "as long as ye be keepin' that Anamaria from pummelin' me and that garlic in yer shirt, everythin's even 'tween us."

"Lovely! And do'n ye fret none over the likes o' Anamaria, she's a softie once ye be familiar with her," Gibbs assured.

"_Aye and I be the Virgin Mary,_" the phantom gestured suggestively, jerking her fist up and down.

Maren swallowed her giggles, "Gentlemen, if ye will excuse me, I wish to rest for a spell-," hastily she re-worded her statement, still sore from the witch reference, "-bit, rest for a bit, 'fore dinner. Nathan, thank ye for the company and the tour, 'twas enlightening. Mister Gibbs, thank ye for rallyin' to me rescue."

"Anytime me dear," Gibbs waved as Maren left, then habitually rapped Nathan atop the head because he was stuck in fits of stuttering and blushes.

0000000

Maren was indeed refreshed after a two-hour nap, an extravagance she hadn't afforded herself in a long time. So, here she was, imprisoned in luxury, held captive aboard the legendary Black Pearl, craved by a lustful, and still very handsome, pirate captain, and finally controlling her sea legs.

"Kristy?" she spoke dreamily aloud, "I do'n be hatin' me life anymore."

An impatient knock startled both living and deceased women. "Comin'!" annoyed at the interruption to her epiphany of contentment, Maren heaved the door open.

Anamaria loomed in the hall, a massive, ornate chest in her arms, "Cap'n says yer to have this plunder we lift'd from a merchant ship," she tossed the trunk at Maren's feet. "And as punishment for disobeyin' his orders, I'm to apologize…but I wo'n be meanin' it, just gots to say it," she pointed her index finger under Maren's chin.

"All right," tentatively, Maren leaned away.

"I apologize," she testified gruffly, then spun on her heels and trumped down the hallway.

"_What…a…bitch!_" Kristy proclaimed as if she was orchestrating a choir and a forethought, "_A good lay would fix her right up._"

'A good lay is your answer to everything,' distracted, Maren hauled the trunk inside the room and shut the door. 'What ye 'spects it is?'

"_Ooh presents! Open it!_" gleefully Kristy squeaked.

Fiddling with the latch, it eventually popped open and Maren peered skeptically inside. Dresses, a chest full of shimmering cloth and fluff, wonderful in Maren's eyes. "Bury me alive!" she dug greedily through the garments, mouth watering in delight.

Kristy knelt beside her, clapping in excitement, "_Try them on!_"

Spurred by adrenaline, Maren shed her dress like the dull, brown rags they were. Clad in her shift, petticoats, bloomers and corset, she riffled through velvets and satins and cottons galore, through reds and blues and greens as radiant as any rainbow, but a crisis was formulating. The women for whom this clothing was intended, were lean and lanky, bony and angled, in conclusion, not Maren. Her heart was plummeting, perhaps Jack was tormenting her with these twig dresses. Maybe he was insinuating she was fat! Maren's sensitivity bristled.

Behold, salvation was delivered at the very bottom of the trunk. A shining satin dress colored light olive and hemmed with crème lace held potential. Its dominant asset for Maren, the cut of the sleeves ended off the shoulders, so the larger aspects of her upper torso could feasibly cram inside. The waist was a tight squeeze though, but still achievable. Two inches of fabric dragged lazily upon the floor, her height inadequate, but there was simply no alternative.

After fifteen minutes of lacing and hooking, Maren jolted to the mirror atop the vanity. Her reflection was like a lightening strike, her breath caught in her throat and her stomach flip-flopped. She'd never worn satin before, had never even touched it, but now anyone could see it was a match made in heaven. Posing Maren scrutinized herself in the mirror. 'Ye do'n think me breasts look like arse cheeks shoved down me bodice?' she asked Kristy doubtfully.

"_No Pet, that be the fashion, its suppos'd to look like that, men love it!_"

'Ye do'n think it shows too much skin?' motioning to the bare shoulders and spilling cleavage, Maren's blush crept up again.

"_No such thin', luv!_" Kristy proclaimed fervently.

Maren continued to stare at her reflection and then she started to wonder…

"Oh Merciful Lord!" she shouted, covering her face in her hands, "I'm a bleedin' dunce!"

"_Are ye out o' yer mind? What ye pissin' on 'bout now?_" Kristy returned the bellowing.

'I was almost takin' in, that's what!' pacing about, Maren raised her skirts to better stomp her feet, 'Is'n it obvious, Kristy? Butterin' me up like some copper tart! This story's older than Adam's first stiffer, villainous knave bestowin' rich delicacies upon virtuous dewy-eyed heroine, seducin' and decievin' her, just usin' her! Well sod off that!' Maren yelled aloud, "Do ye hear me ye cocky bastard? Sod OFF!"

Another knock, "Miss Attle?" a shaky Nathan inquired in trepidation.

"Um…aye Nathan?" Maren slapped her forehead, mortified.

_"_I'm to fetch ye to dinner with Cap'n Sparrow," he said.

0000000

"_Thought the whelp would blow his load just from the lookin' at ye,_" Kristy followed his speedy decent below deck with amused eyes.

'Ye disgustin',' Maren implied distantly, her thoughts racing as she tapped the door before her.

"Enter!" Jack called from the other side.

'Grant me patience,' praying, Maren twisted the knob and entered the point of no return.

He was bent, engrossed over a mammoth map that lapped over the sides of his worktable. His intricate beads and hair fell forward, masking his face. The arc of his back reminded Maren of a cat exhibiting a stretch flauntingly. His trademark hat and jacket were missing, just Jack in gray trousers, black boots, white shirt, dark vest, and the dramatic red sash and bandana.

The captain's cabin was spacious and well furnished. Lengthy desks lined the walls, brimming with small navigational contraptions and tombs of maps. Several cabinets and trunks were bound with chain and heavy locks, their security unquestionable. A large bed crowded in the corner, Maren averted her eyes, even the bed was yearning to tempt her. Dinner was waiting on one end of a massive bolted dining table; at the other end, were a moderate pile of gold doubloons, a record book, and a set of scales.

Nervously, Maren closed the door behind her. The metallic click made Jack glance up at her. The smirk couldn't have been anymore palpable if he had written it out upon his face. His vision danced along the bare neck and shoulders, smoldering on those globes of enticement. "Maren," grandly he approached, arms stretched out in worship, "Ye have stolen me very heart," he clutched theatrically at his chest.

"Pity yer not dead yet," Maren spat.

Jack stared impassively at her a moment, "I swear Satan hiself would run away pissin' from that viper mouth o' yers."

"Then why are ye still here?"

"Ouch! I thought we be gettin' 'long, ye and me."

"Ye thought wrong!"

"Did I?"

"Aye!"

"Well now ye _broken_ me heart!"

"Good!"

"Happy?"

"Very!"

"Would ye care for some supper?"

"Please!"

Both walked to the dining table, actually, Maren marched and Jack swaggered. Genteelly, he submitted a chair for Maren and licked his lips as she sat herself, gazing directly down a cavern of breast. This time, Kristy didn't mention Jack's leering. He stalled briefly, considering, "Brush me up on me ghost etiquette luv, will Kristy be requirin' a seat?"

Surprised, Maren and Kristy exchanged blank glances. Nobody who ever knew of Kristy ever truly thought of Kristy, even Maren's father was inclined to ignore her invisible presence. "Well, she do'n strictly be requirin' anything'," Maren stepped carefully, "But she does prefer her own chair. Says sittin' be a habit, hard to brake."

Jack nodded and proffered the seat to the air as if this was a perfectly natural occurrence. "_How noble!_" sarcastic, negative, streetwise Kristy blubbered like a love struck puppy, "_Tell him I'd gladly ride him wild all night if I could!_"

"Kristy says thanks," watching Jack take his seat at the head of the table, that silly grin lighting his features, Maren realized how little she understood about this man. Every meaningless gesture he made, every quipped response, was coolly calculating. The more she witnessed Jack's antics, the cleverer he became. She had the brooding suspicion she was playing a game with Jack and Jack had made the rules, "that was insightful of you, to remember Kristy."

"Just strivin' to be an acceptable host is all," Jack reached for a bottle, already uncorked and partially consumed, "Wine?"

"Aye, thank ye," Maren injected, "and for heaven's sake do'n offer any to Kristy. Not eatin' and drinkin' sort o' a sore spot to her," she shrugged nonchalantly, returning Jack's smile when he poured her a hefty glass of wine.

"_Rub it in, why do'n ye?_"Kristy moped while the living showoffs served themselves their meal.

They ate in silence, Jack often studying her, that charming smirk killing any rude retorts upon her nimble tongue. It could not be remedied, those kohl-lined eyes, pools of endearing brown, they pinned her resistance like a fox toying with a rabbit. For all her stubbornness, Maren discovered she was powerless to control the fluttering of her heart and tightening of her stomach in Jack's fiery company. Her breaths echoed in her shallow lungs, that persistent flush barely held back. Where the hell was her backbone?

Finished, Jack purposefully set his utensils and plate aside, basking in his chair, hands clasped idly on his stomach, "How 'bouts some story time?"

"If the hero's Cap'n Romulus and ye be havin' somethin' more to drink, ye got yerself an audience," Maren displayed the wine bottle and rotated it upside down, not a drop to drip.

Jack shuddered at the empty bottle; if the world were a paradise, bottles would never be empty. "Do'n panic!" he displayed his palms to the Maren, splaying the fingers, as if she was hysterical when really it was his voice that was rising in anxiety. "There be plenty more, no worries." That intoxicating prancing carried him to a chiefly protected chest, secured with dozens of latches connected to about three different locks. "Here we go," mumbling to himself, Jack caressed the thick wooded side farthest from Maren, feeling and concentrating. Seemingly satisfied, Jack thudded his fist precisely on a fixed spot upon the trunk.

_Tick_ every latch popped open at once. Jack sighed as he dreamily searched through the chest. Two items were removed and Jack slammed the lid shut, all the latches bolting again. "Catastrophe averted by one Cap'n Jack Sparrow," cheerily, he presented a brandy bottle to Maren, "Aged thirty year me dear, this goes down smoother than any whore-," his mouth clamped shut, then peered self-consciously at the outwardly empty chair, "No offense luv."

"_None taken Cap'n Sparrow,_" Kristy fluffed her phantom hair, shyly.

"No worries," translating, Maren pointed impatiently to the hand still behind Jack's back, "What ye up to?"

"Why Maren, I not be up to anything," while is voice was smoothed by innocence, the ruffian was betrayed by his demon smile as he leapt down to one knee as if proposing marriage, "Only decadence, debauchery, and depravity." Each sinful word he uttered was sensual and inviting, then he procured an ordinary ribbon box. The lid was lifted and disregarded to the floor. Maren gradually glanced into the box-

"Chocolates!" she cried, eyes ten times more lustful than any bawdy stare Jack ever procured.

"_I'm in hell,_" moaned Kristy, "_This is hell!_"

"Aye plenty o' chocolates for me litt' medium!" pleased, Jack picked a sweet from the box and, begging for luck, offered it to Maren's plump lips now quivering in craving.

Perhaps if Jack hadn't acted like it was so deceptively natural, maybe if Maren wasn't so hypnotized by the sight of her rare and favorite sweet, and perhaps if God in Heaven hadn't created chocolate so cursedly divine then Maren wouldn't have done what she did.  
Numb to all logical thought, Maren's mouth pounced on the chocolate. Warm mauve lips wrapped around Jack's fingertips, teeth sank into the sweet corruption and lightly grazed against his flesh. To Maren, there was only the sugary rapture on her taste buds, this honeyed taste of ecstasy. To Jack, there was only the wet warmth alluring his senses, this sensual succubus now in reach. Her eyes were closed in sheer bliss and Jack choked back a groan when Maren faintly sucked the chocolate off his fingers, just a hinting tug. The alto rich moan that bloomed from her throat vibrated onto his skin, her fist clenching as she was overwhelmed. Then it was all over, all too soon. "Mmmm, oooh…wow…God that be wonderful!" she pulled away.

Her eyes flew open, the veracity of her actions crashing upon her like ruthless waves. She glanced from Jack's fingers now moist from her own saliva to his face, passionately dark. Unwavering, they stared intensely at each other, the air between them sparking like fireworks. Silence stretched until…

"Let's do that again!" Jack joyfully grabbed another chocolate.

"Oh, give me that!" clawing at the box, Maren tore it from his grasp.

"_Where'd ye learn that move from?_" proud, Kristy clapped fondly.

While Maren greedily shoved another sweet into her mouth, chewing in delight, Jack scooted closer to her side, still kneeling on the floor, and whispered amusingly, "Was it good for you?" Maren didn't even acknowledge him, only shoved his head away brusquely with one sidetracked hand, a woman consumed with chocolates. Yet another popped past her lips. Chuckling, Jack rose and cracked the brandy open, fetching fresh tumblers, and pouring a liberal amount of brandy into each. Reclaiming his chair, Jack handed the glass to Maren.

"Fank ye," she ground out, mouth full of delicious stickiness. Washing down the globs of chocolate with brandy that really was remarkably smooth, Maren said, "I _love_ chocolate!"

"Suspect'd as much," Jack humored her.

"Reckon I've only had it four, maybe five times in me life," Maren counted on her fingers, "Too expensive, even in the New World." Those blue eyes rolled, merrily inhaling more treats, "How's 'bout ye start explainin' things?" Maren advised between chews.

Relaxing, Jack drank from his brandy, that smirk peaking through before he began his narrative:

"Seventy-five years ago, when the New World was still…ye know i _new_ /i , a sailor for the, then, buddin' British Navy nam'd Captain James Reeve Romulus went rogue. No one truly knows what sent him off, just one day he snapp'd and ripp'd that pompous arse flag off his mast, tore it to shreds, and flew a new flag, the symbol of his ship, the Alpha upon it. Never been done 'fore. Oh aye, there's been piracy 'round since the beginnin' o' civilization, but ole Romulus, he invent'd _modern_ piracy. Do'n just steal…plunder, do'n just attack…pillage, do'n just breathe…live! No loyalty to country, only captain, no love for land, only ocean, and no rules, only the Code!"

"What a man! There'll never be his like again, that's for sure. Twenty-five years he was the terror of the seas, one and only, Father of all Pirates. Also, and this do'n get 'round much, somewhat o' a scholar, revolutioniz'd some very ancient navigational techniques and an amateur engineer too, always tryin' to carve the Alpha that much faster, that much deadlier, that much more resilient. The Alpha, she was i _it_ /i , I mean the epitome of nautical technology at the time. Cap'n Rommie knew, ye aint nothin' without your lady ship, dedicat'd his soul to her he did."

"One day, Cap'n Romulus smell'd a mutiny afoot, he was like that ye see, he just knew his men so well, knew every-damn-littl'-thing that went on in their heads. There were twelve o' them bastards, so Romulus had to do somethin' quick 'fore twelve become twenty, and twenty 'comes thirty, etcetera. Mutiny be poisonous, spreads as deadly as the plague. So Rommie announces the relocation o' all his treasure, every last gem he ever stole and this stalls the mutiny, they be wantin' the mass o' that fortune. They travel 'round the Caribbean, pickin' his horde up from its hidden places like bread from a bakery, bold as can be."

"Arrives at a secret place one day and the sly devil Cap'n, he picks those twelve traitors to come ashore with him and secrete his plunder away. Fools think they be in luck, opportune moment to murder their cap'n and secure the treasure. Savvy? It be the greed that killed them! After they buried his loot, he slaughter'd the lot of them! All he had was a pistol, a sword, and a dagger. Pretty impressive for a fifty year old man, eh? Twelve against one! Mutinous bastards…"

"Anyway, poor Romulus. The threat of mutiny had made him sloppy o' unlucky, the Alpha was spott'd, Portuguese galley on reconnaissance mission. Saw the Alpha and went cryin' back to port. The mutiny had lousy timin', there was heavy conflict 'tween Portugal and Spain, brink o' war type shit. Thems were the only two real superpowers in the Americas. English ships were spit then and forget 'bout them French. Well some official somewhere organizes this peace meetin' for the two and o' course, both virtually bring their entire navies to be influencin' the negotiations real peaceful-like. Suppose almost every ship in the New World was in the gulf that day, whens this Portuguese boat comes screamin' in 'The Alpha! The Alpha!'. So while the Spanish loath'd the Portuguese and the Portuguese despis'd the Spanish, were'n nothin' compar'd to how much they _hat'd_ Cap'n Romulus! The entire fleet fell upon the Alpha at bay, it was a massacre."

"What a horror that must o' been. Hearin' them canons on land, knowin' yer ships sufferin' in the sea. Ye see, Romulus never made it back in time, he was forc'd to witness the annihilation o' his Alpha from the beach, so bloody helpless. Chills me blood just thinkin' o' it. Now ye might be wonderin', 'Well so the Alpha's gone, there's still a vast fortune buried behind him, right?' Aye he could've done that, take all that gold and bribe hiself a new ship from a corrupt Spanish captain, Lord knows there be plenty o' them. But it was'n 'bout that, never 'bout the wealth o' the biggest boat o' the fame…'twas 'bout the freedom luv, 'twas 'bout the Alpha."

"When his ship was lost from sight, swallow'd by the sea, Cap'n James Reeve Romulus took his pistol and swallow'd a bullet, not a moment's hesitation."

Jack sighed mournfully, "For fifty years Romulus' treasure be lost. The Spanish and the Portuguese looked for it, aye, but Cap'n Romulus never hid a treasure people could find, what be the point in that? A war brew'd not long after, the records to the exact location o' the final restin' place o' the Alpha was lost and there be thousands o' miles o' shoreline in the Americas to search." He interrupted himself with a leisurely swig of brandy.

"What makes ye think ye'll find it?" Maren asked.

"Ye," Jack said plainly, almost adoringly.

"How?"

"There was one survivor, one captive that liv'd to tell what happen'd 'board the Alpha that day. He was old Rommie's confidant, right hand lad sort o' speak," something vastly different changed Jack's eyes.

"The cabin boy?" she felt a curious impulse to comfort Jack, but stayed her ground.

"Aye, took the lad under his wing," Jack said, oddly vague, "I found him forty years after the sinkin' o' the Alpha, sav'd him from a heap o' trouble, he join'd me crew, together we found that bay, and found Cap'n Romulus' grave. The natives buried him ye see…fear'd his ghost."

"That's how ye know his hauntin' place," awed, Maren laid a gentle hand upon Jack's jeweled one.

Jack laughed bitterly, his mood was a mystery to Maren, "Did'n believe in curses then me dear, I was a fool."

"But now?"

"Now I know better," he smiled his inebriated grin at her and squeezed her hand, "The Spaniards finally got the Portuguese out, only to have them replac'd by the Brits to the North and the Frogs in the Gulf. Course, we pirates only addin' to the fire. Recently, I sack'd a Spanish spreader from a fort very, very close to Rommie's grave. The fort be call'd La Cabra Robada, so close to fame and fortune and they haven't a clue! Aboard this tiny spreader was a written request to the ArchBishop in Granada for an exorcism, apparently, several unfortunate accidents are befalling the soldiers there, unpleasant dreams, rotten food, bad water, everything! And several o' them Spaniards have seen an English bloke in old garbs, pacin' back and forth on the beach."

"It be the genuine thing Maren," Jack's cheery demeanor returned full force, "There's no other way to explain it. Them sailors at the fort, they have no idea that the body o' the legendary Cap'n Romulus is a piss away! Why make somethin' like this up?"

"Makes sense to me," she agreed, becoming lovelier in Jack's eyes by the minute.

"_Me too,_" Kristy who had been relatively quiet, since the chocolate incident, piped in.

"That's when I went huntin' for ye luv," winking, Jack raised his glass to her, "All I requir'd was someone who could communicate with the Cap'n and I went to Tortuga 'cause that port has anythin' and everthin a pirate be needin'. I was right," he gloated. "Now for the matter o' payment-," again, he wetted his lips with brandy, keeping his scheming gaze on Maren, "Standard crewmember gets three percent o' the end cut, cabin boy gets one and a half percent, Gibbs gets his six percent, and me, my share be nine."

"I want six."

"Ye'll get four."

"Five, no less."

"Four and I'll buy ye a hat, a really nice one."

"Five and I wo'n be kickin' ye in the sociables."

"Deal."

"Deal," they shook hands resolutely.

"And now, it pains me to be bidden farewell, but a man needs his rest Miss Attle, lessen ye be needin'," instantly, Jack flew like his namesake out of his chair and onto his spacious bed, propped up on one elbow, his hipped cocked to the side, raising his eyebrows as he patted the space next to him, "some more intimate company tonight."

"_By all that is holy, do it! Do it!_"

"Company yerself Sparrow," Maren bit hotly, "that's why God gave ye hands!" She flourished her satin skirts while heading towards the door.

"Wait Maren!" Jack bounced up to her, she paused, hands on hips, "One goodnight kiss, please."

"Ye mad?"

"The general consensus would be 'aye'," Jack stretched his arms far apart, hands dangling, "Lookie luv, I'm mindin' meself, I be behavin' so how 'bout it, eh?"

He appeared so adorable, Maren realized resistance was useless, he had charmed her a long time ago. "Very well, but keep yer hands where I can see them!" Exaggerating a mimed stickup, Jack closed his eyes. Meekly, Maren stepped closer, standing on tiptoe, progressively inching her lips to his. She pecked quickly, the brief contact still lighting a fire below her belly, before dashing out of Jack's eager reach. His hands were notoriously quick, but Maren's profession honed her to avoid unwelcome grabs, slaps, and pinches. He barely missed her retreating skirts as she scuttled to the doorway.

She stopped to accuse over her shoulder as she threw open the door, "Ye said ye be behavin'!"

"Pirate," he shrugged, twiddling his fingers at her while she slammed the door, "Night Maren!"

Hustling below deck, Maren retreated to the safety of her room, Kristy floating behind her. Her heart was pounding in her ears. It wasn't that he tried to embrace her, hell she _knew_ he'd try something like that. It was that she kissed him anyway, knowing full well his intention to seduce her. And sweet Mary, he almost had! The vision of him sprawled upon that bed, desire scenting him like a perfume had tempted her, sorely tempted her.

She shivered, freeing herself from the ill fitted dress and caringly folding it into the armoire. Corset was tossed unceremoniously on the ground, petticoats followed. Crawling into the feather bed, Maren wore only her shift and knickers, but even those were chafing her heated skin.

"_Well I'll be 'bout. Goin' to go spy on them pirate blokes tonight, seein' which one's got a lover onboard,_" Kristy licked her lips.

'Ye be the only woman who ever exist'd that gets randy when two men be buggerin',' not bothering to raise her flushed face from the pillow, Maren shooed her away.

"_'Tis only fair,_" insisted Kristy, unabashed, "_Men be crazy for two ladies up on each other, but ye be a woman with a keen interest in male homosexual activities and people call ye a pervert!_"

"Goodnight Kristy."

"_Night Pet._"

Still drunk off of Jack's charisma, Maren dreamed…

She was in Jack's quarters again, only this time she climbed onto the bed next to Jack. Their lips and mouths clashed together, the sounds of delicious kisses filled the air. The taste of chocolate stained his lips and Maren hungrily lapped at it. Mindlessly, she bucked her hips on his thigh as it crept further and further between her legs. Tingling in her stomach made her moan…and suddenly they were on a beach, the Alpha sinking in the distance, but it wasn't the Portuguese or the Spanish that sunk her. The crew had run out of wine so they were sawing holes in her sides, every last one committing suicide. Sailing through the sands like water, the Black Pearl approached and Barbossa jumped down to tip his hat congenially at Maren. She had to warn Jack, but no sound came as she tried to scream, instead there was a whistle. Waving merrily Jack motioned Barbossa over to play cards and they promptly ignored her. The figurehead of the Black Pearl ordered a bottle of rum and Helen yelled at her to fetch more whiskey from downstairs. Across the ocean, Kristy and Pa were approaching, walking on water. Maren would have to remind them they blasphemed as she busied herself with the drinks….


	8. Le Petite

_Chapter Eight: Le Petite_

Maren's conscious bobbed to the surface of wakefulness like a buoyant lure in a fishing pond. "_Ye deaf gel?_" Kristy shouted, "_Ye not hear all that commotion?_" The ghost waved her hands in Maren's face.

"Mmm…what the devil?" cheek creased with pillow marks, Maren begrudgingly sat up. Above, hurried footfalls and excited shouts were carrying down. "What time?" she mumbled through drowsiness.

"_Littl' 'fore noon,_" scolded Kristy, "_Lazy arse!_"

'Noon?' hopping from the soft embrace of the bed, Maren picked up her old dress from the floor. She was a taken slightly aback, when had she ever managed to sleep so late? Maybe the time when she was struck with that fever, but she was more on her deathbed then sleeping. The truth was Maren probably would have enjoyed a longer slumber schedule but could never have afforded it. Now was a different story though, she could get used to this. 'Why ye not wake me up?' she busily dressed, the brown wool so much harsher than the slick satin of the night before. 'I be havin' the strangest dream.'

"_I be havin' the most entertainin' night!_" grinning evilly, Kristy didn't finish, hunting for some coaxing from Maren.

'Fine,' Maren sighed, brushing her hair viciously, 'what ye see?'

Kristy exploded, "_First, 'member Paulson, that pirate light-on-his-feet, ask'd ye for a corset? Well, he fancies this older fellow, name o' Newall, now Newall he knockin' boots with this other lad, Teller. Teller and Paulson us'd to be lovers, only Newall do'n know it. Last night, Paulson corners Newall under stern deck and they have a tumble, then Teller catches them in the act! So I 'spects, 'Oh there's goin' to be a bitch o' a row here,' but no! Inteady, Teller jumps in, swear to God! Now it be like one o' them Roman orgies ye hear tell of, right in front o' me! Could'n believe me luck!_"

Maren paused in plating her pale hair to stare blankly at Kristy, 'Anythin' else?' she asked sarcastically.

"_Aye,_" beamed Kristy, "_Jack sleeps in the nude!_" The red blush detonated, while Maren tried to concentrate on her braid. "_Got dozens o' tattoos, by the way, I was right 'bouts the horse reference,_" as sweetly as if she was singing in a choir at church, Kristy chimed.

More stomping and yelling sounded, 'Would ye go have a look-see already? Find out what all that hubbub be 'bout, I've got to wash me face,' desperately Maren changed the subject. Her disobedient imagination spun out of control, decorating Jack's naked form with all assortments of exotic body art. The cool water from the washbasin helped a bit, at least washing the flush away, but not the delicious images.

Kristy stubbornly waited for Maren to finish and they both wandered to the deck together. Hustling pirates, shouldered past Maren, not even acknowledging her presence, performing hurried tasks. Something serious was happening, no doubt, it reminded Maren of a kicked up anthill, seemingly chaotic order. She caught sight of Gibbs and Jack on the upper deck. The Cap'n stood at the starboard railing, one eye squinting through a telescope and Gibbs was next to him, gazing intently at the horizon. At her approach, Gibbs noticed her and smiled.

"My sleepyhead," he laughed, "ye miss'd breakfast."

"Leave her alone, Mister Gibbs," Jack spoke, still with the telescope pointed out to sea, "I keeps tellin' ye, I ravish'd her completely senseless last night, into the wee hours of the morn. Then we had at it again, o' course, the poor gel be exhaust'd and bowlegg'd to boot, I bet."

Gaping, Maren beseeched Gibbs, "He's lyin'!" she proclaimed.

"I know me dear," assured Gibbs, "Ye be too clever to fall for the Cap'n's hogwash."

"I can hear ye, Mister Gibbs," Jack sang over his shoulder, tearing his vision from the telescope.

"Aye sir, yer type be hearin' everythin'," agreeing, Gibbs left to shout orders at half a dozen men tightening sails.

"What's goin' on?" Maren inquired to Jack, who had returned to studying the distance.

"An ole friend," smiling darkly, he gestured her closer and gave her the telescope, "Take a gander, luv."

Maren uncertainly peeked into the eyeglass, "It's the bloody ocean Jack." She jumped when he laid one agile hand on her hip, spinning her northward and another equally nimble hand, raising the telescope a little. He leaned his head over her shoulder, his beaded beard tickling her neck. The scent of rum and salt seeped from him and Maren inhaled deeply to better acquaint herself with it. Numbly, she raised the telescope to Jack's eye, transfixed by the sight of his handsome features so near her. Subconsciously perhaps, she held the telescope close to her face, so that Jack had to brush his cheek against hers to gaze through the eyeglass. Gracefully, he readjusted her stance again then relented the telescope to her. Still, he kept his hands upon her and his head inclined next to hers. Maren looked through the eyeglass and saw a speck of ship in the distance. "What 'tis it?"

"A boat," Jack slurred in her ear, matter-a-factly, "big wooden things, what floats on water."

Instantly, Jack knew his wisearse comment was a mistake. Under his fingers he felt her tense up and she turned two slitted eyes to glare daggers at him, "Ha ha," she said without humor, "Now what type o' boat-," she shut Jack up before he answered, "-serious now!"

"That is a pirate ship," he spoke slowly, against her hair, "The ship be Le Petite-,"

"LeBlanc?" Maren's interrupted.

"Aye, Cap'n Jean-Pierre LeBlanc, the only decent seaman that France ever retch'd up, still a slimy Frog though," what might, in the vast alternatives of space, have been jealousy edged Jack's voice, "Ye know him?"

"No, but I heard 'bout him and Le Petite in the pub," concentrating, Maren stared out through the telescope, totally forgetting the pirate captain still hanging on her. "Givin' chase?"

"Aye, Le Petite's a fine ship, but aint nothin' compar'd to the Pearl. Reckon we'll catch her in 'round two hours, maybe less, if LeBlanc decides to take his chances in a fight."

Abruptly Maren lowered the scope, "Fight?" she peeped anxiously.

"Ahh," Jack hugged her waist, resting his chin on her head, "Do'n fret none, me bonnie medium, ole Jack's here to protect ye. Aint no scary pirates goin' to be stealin' me newest acquisition."

"Why are ye still touchin' me?" sharply, coldly Maren spat. It was the 'acquisition' part that got Jack in trouble, she hated it the first time he called her that and she hated it even more the second time around. Why hadn't he just hugged her and reassured her like a gentleman? She would have loved to abandon herself, wrapped in his comforting arms, leaning her body against his, and burying her face in the crook of his neck. 'But no! He goes and ruins the moment!' she thought bitterly.

Jack was feeling two things simultaneously, offended and an impulse. Well Jack had lived thus far on a series of lucky impulses and he survived to tell the tale. So without any delay whatsoever, Jack did as the lady requested and dropped his arms away…then promptly bit her shoulder.

Maren shrieked and flailed away from him, quite undignified.

"_I knew it! What I say, eh?_" like a champion boxer, Kristy hefted her arms up in victory, "_A biter! That's what I said, a biter!_"

"What is wrong with ye!" Maren screamed several pirates, turning about to see the show.

Jack innocently laid his fingers upon his chest as if to ask, 'Who me?' but remained quiet, clearly enjoying Maren undone. Gibbs and Anamaria, the lady pirate still wary of Maren, approached to investigate the fuss.

"He bit me!" she pointed accusingly at Jack.

"She's crazy, too much sun, thinks she can talk to ghosts," twiddling his finger next to his temple, Jack gazed at Maren with mock-pity.

"Now children, do'n make me separate ye two," Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Crazy!" Maren advanced on Jack, clenching her fists. "Ye the looniest man I ever met! And ye _bit_ me!"

"Just a littl' one," Jack demonstrated by pinching his thumb and forefinger together, keeping the tiniest space between them and baring his gold teeth.

"To hell with ye Jack Sparrow-,"

"Captain, luv."

"Who cares! Go play ye childish littl' war games and chase Frenchmen to the River Styx and back. Blow big holes in each other ships like the big manly blokes ye are and have a pissin' contest for kicks. Poke yerself with swords till ye puke for all I bother! But save yer pervert'd innuendos and yer filthy gropin' hands for someone, anyone else! Hear me Sparrow! Leave me ALONE!" She marched off, red-faced and now embarrassed that the entire crew on deck watched her every move fixedly. Jack saw her disappear below deck, then reappear again, "And for Christ's sake…be careful!" and there it was. Concern and fear as plain as the sun in the sky and Jack had been too daft to notice.

"Nicest thing any woman's ever said to me," he joked with the crew, who chuckled loudly then set back to work when they caught Gibbs' warning glare. How could he have missed it? She was concerned for him, not for herself. Oddly enough that really was the most flattering thing a woman had ever done for him, so what does he do? He mocks her. Oh he didn't regret the bite, he considered the bite and her reaction hysterical really, and on general terms he never regretted anything, just wasn't iii_his_iii way to regret things. But he was disappointed, which is slightly different. He should have scooped her up and whispered sweet securities into her ears until she relaxed properly…then bit her.

"Jack," Gibbs artlessly smirked at him, "Did'n ye ever grow out of that phase, ye know the one, where ye went 'round tuggin' littl' girls' pigtails and hittin' them 'til they cried?"

"Nope," proud, Jack stood tall, hands on hips.

0000000

An hour passed while Maren was sulking in her room, Kristy driving her batty with lectures and mingling, then finally gave up being ignored and rejoined the action upstairs. Hearing the looming roll of the canons being moved, Maren was overwhelmed with curiosity and decided that watching the fight was much better than _not_ watching it.

The first thing that greeted her, besides the bright afternoon sunlight, was a Nathan pouting. "Hey now, what's this long face for?" Maren consoled smiling.

"Cap'n's orders," he ground his teeth, "Cabin boy stays bellow deck."

"Oh I be sorry boy," honestly, Maren was relieved, but some lies are worth telling. "So we're catchin' up to Le Petite?"

He stared at her oddly and said clearly, "We're right on top o' her," pointing an obvious finger towards the port and sure enough, the French galley, barely half the size of the Pearl was steering about, baring its canons like a wicked grin. "She'll never get the chance to fire," Nathan added almost bored, still moping, "Cap'n Sparrow's pullin' a _stud_," he clarified, "Maneuver where ye swing 'bouts and nab her by the stern, normally a ship this size can't be doin' somethin' that dexterous, but the Pearl's not just any ship."

Maren didn't respond, she bolted to the upper deck to Jack strutting like a king with Gibbs and Anamaria flanking. Gaily Kristy waved from atop the crow's nest shouting, "_View's great up here!_"

"Cap'n what's happinin'?" she skidded to a halt in front of him, breathless.

"Piracy," Jack furrowed his brow, "Could've sworn ye were here for that part."

"I mean what's the plan!" the panic etched her voice, so she took a deep calming breath, aware a sweat had broken out on her temple.

"Plan?" Jack asked incredulously, "well, we be plannin' to shoot at that other ship there," exaggerating, he gestured to Le Petite, "then jump aboard," another punctuated physical demonstration, "indulge in some elaborate swordplay," hands waved about violently, "steal whatever's not nail'd down, and burn their sails." The blank stare he received urged him to continue with snapping fingers, "Oh and a victory party tonight where we drown in liquor, vomit and piss, most likely some song and dance too, is that what ye steerin' towards?"

"That's it?" stunned, Maren gaped her mouth like a drowning fish, "That be the bloomin' brilliant strategy o' the piratin' genius, Cap'n Jack Sparrow?"

"There is one more thing," Jack removed his hat and coat lovingly, "Be a dear, Maren and tuck these 'way in me quarters, please."

Maren's logic was dumbstruck, so she just did what Jack instructed her to. Dazed she took his things and walked dumbly to Jack's cabin. A pirate battle, what was she doing here? Her thoughts either sprinting in her mind too fast to see or there were no thoughts to see because none were there, Maren dutifully entered Jack's quarters and set his possessions on the dining table.

_Wham!_ The door slammed shut and there was no denying the metal click as the lock was secured from the other side. "No worries, Maren, ye'll be safe in here," Jack called through the door.

"Jack! Ye can't-," but he could, Maren threw herself against the unyielding wood and shook the iron lock, it didn't budge. He tricked her, hands down fooled her! Pounding, no longer anxious but angry as the devil, Maren shouted, "Jack ye bastard! Let me OUT! NOW!" Needless to say, aid wasn't forthcoming.

Blood pounding, Maren crawled onto one of Jack's worktables, carelessly scattering the gadgets and papers on top. She pressed her face up to the window like a hungry child lusting after pastries in the bakery shop. "Please do'n be doin' anythin' daft Jack…like diein'," she whispered to no one.

0000000

This was Jack's element. The adrenaline was tenfold more potent and addicting then any drug or drink. The Black Pearl was perfectly perpendicular to La Petite's stern, he imagined the delightful sneer on LeBlanc's pointed face, when he realized he was fucked, his canons aimed uselessly at starboard and no time to rearrange them to fire from stern with the Pearl's crew leaping aboard any moment. That very moment was vast approaching. Jack unsheathed his sword, admiring young William Turner's craftsmanship as it glinted gemlike. His mind raced ahead to Port Royale, where the happy Turner couple was doubtless flaunting their happiness in one-way or another. A small pang in his gut reminded Jack that he missed them, his friends.

Returning to the present, Jack yelled, commanding and menacing, "Open FIRE!" The boom of the canons rippled the ocean water and shook the Pearl like a cough.

0000000

It couldn't be helped, Maren was terribly, guiltily excited. The flash of steal, the roar of canons, and all presented right in front of her nose, a twisted epic stage. Initially, Maren squeaked pitifully and bit her fingers raw when Jack first engaged a beastly French pirate in combat. But around the eleventh man he soundly walloped, Maren wasn't so worried anymore. In fact, she prayed for more challengers to affront the Pearl's great Cap'n. Jack was breathtaking and magnificent in warfare, Mars himself would turn green with envy. Such ferocity, such skill, so very virile and she mourned how irrational she was the night prior, when she wasted the chance to experience all that pirate exuberance firsthand. Why hadn't she kissed him, really kissed him?

In ten minutes, though it stretched to days for Maren, the majority of the conflict was over. Cap'n LeBlanc, wisely avoiding a slaughter, or worse, the sinking of Le Petite, drew the white flag himself, doing so with dignity and honor. The blaring cloth looming over their heads, LeBlanc's crew obediently cast their weapons aside. Laying his hat at Sparrow's feet, LeBlanc guaranteed the unconditional surrender of Le Petite for the next seventy-two hours. By taking the hat and tossing it back to LeBlanc, Jack agreed to spare the ship, all went according to the Code.

Except there was always that one…the one fellow who figured he'd make a quick and easy name for himself. Always looking for shortcuts, cutting corners, his ambition far surpassing his ability, and this witless pirate was named Roberto, who wasn't a particularly cruel man, just an intolerable one. Patiently, he waited for the advantage and this wasn't to be confused with cowardice, it was only piracy at its most basic level.

Le Petite's crew was rounded up, each squatting on their knees, hands clasped behind their heads, except Cap'n LeBlanc who, because of his station, was authorized to stand stoically, guarded by Gibbs with a pistol drawn on his back. Pompously, Jack oversaw the removal of Le Petite's cargo, deducting enough supplies for one-week adrift, common courtesy if a ship surrenders so cordially. Munificent in mood, Jack consented to forgo the burning of the sails and settled on dousing them instead, a procedure in which the aforementioned cloth was brutally torn down, the damage extensive but repairable, and cast the sails into the ocean. The benefit for the losers being that wet sails can dry and still function, while sails in ashes are worthless. The profit for the winners, the defeated ship is dead in the water for a few valuable days and the grudge between the two adversaries is less formidable. This action caused Jack to receive an amiable nod from Cap'n LeBlanc.

Satisfied, Jack walked leisurely up to LeBlanc, some well deserved gloating coming; ready and willing, Roberto swept his sword off the ground and sprang up, thrusting towards Jack. The flicker of movement allowed Jack barely a second's response, he deftly had dagger in hand and deflected the blade, but didn't stop its forward motion…

Maren cried out and covered her eyes, falling off the worktable hastily. Agile with alarm, she grabbed a heavy chair and assaulted the window next to the locked door with it. The glass shattered, braking shards crackling in a strange destructive song. She hauled herself over the tall window with the help of the chair as a step. It was a miracle she didn't critically cut herself when she landed solidly on her side, wind escaping her lungs in a hardy gasp. Adeptly, she bounced to her feet, her side sore. Maren ran, skirts hoisted up to her knees, damn modesty, panicked sobs tearing from her mouth, damn dignity too.

The gangplank loomed ahead, in another world and another life, Maren would have stalled, a tad frightened of heights, but not now, not when Jack was bleeding to death aboard a piddling French galley ship. Her boots pounded the planks as she bounded across, never wavering in her course or speed. Paulson, called out to her confused, but she was beyond noticing, Jack was hurt!

…Jack was fine. She saw him healthy as ever, laughing and conversing with Cap'n LeBlanc, quite definitely not withering on the blade of a sword.

"Jack!" Maren howled, surprising both captains by throwing her weight pleasantly against him, her arms wrapping stoutly around his neck. She hugged with all her might, face tucked under his neck, relieved tears wetting his vest.

"Hello Maren," uncertainly, Jack peered unfocused at the top of Maren's blonde head. Quickly, she leapt away, bending down to Jack's waist, pawing his shirt and un-tucking it from his trousers. "That tickles!" Jack giggled girlishly, then quipped, "_Later_ ye naughty gel!" to LeBlanc's questioning gaze, Jack explained, "Madly in love with me, can't keep her hands off."

Raising his shirt to expose a lean-muscled stomach, kissed copper by the sun, and purposely ignoring an alluring tattoo peaking out from the waist of his trousers, Maren ran an unbelieving hand over unmarred skin. Jack scarcely could swallow the raspy groan in his throat. "But I saw him stab ye!" aghast, she spun him by the waist to inspect his back, "Ye were skewered right through!" Owlishly, her wide eyes sparkled as she straightened out, marveling at Jack's luck.

"That buffoon?" Jack's thumb jerked over to a trampled Roberto, three of the Pearl's men tying him ferociously to a mast, faced into the unrelenting wood. Smiling conspicuously, Jack lured Maren closer with his wiggling index finger "He miss'd, couldn't hit a whale with harpoon," Maren puffed daintily when Jack spread his loose shirt and vest away from his frame, revealing a set of blade-sized holes that went straight through his clothes, "'Tween ye and me, 'twas a littl' close for comfort."

Maren's laughter quaked her entire body, enormous guffaws of release, surged from her mouth like a testament. "I-I thoughts ye were done for!" her dimples were so vast, there was very little face left, "I broke-I broke yer window!" Wiping her tears away with the palm of her hand, the other clasped her aching stomach, breathless from her excursions. "I flew out here…like a bat out a hell! I think I scar'd Paulson half to death!" she took great gulps of air into her spasming lungs, 'Kristy, curse it where are ye?' More infectious giggles, "I even sprint'd cross the gangplank, I hate heights! All for nothing, I be such an idiot!" Attempting to calm down, she sighed heavily, occasionally sniggering to herself.

Cap'n LeBlanc gibbered something smugly in French, Jack grinned threateningly back, "Yer one to talk."

"What ye doin' to him," Maren inquired about Roberto, the shirt now torn from his back.

"Flogging, mon bella," LeBlanc winked.

"_Maren! Where ye been?_" Kristy floated up from lower deck of Le Petite, glowing with enthusiasm. "_'Twas a spectacular occasion to be sure, that there Coliseum in boy-lovin' Rome do'n stroke balls to this!_" The ghost lewdly paused to examine a passing pirates rump, while indifferently saying, "_Tell Jack, there be a safe hidden in the wall behind a picture o' that tart Venus wossoname, in LeBlanc's cabin. Threw a gigantic tiara in there 'fore the mayhem commenced._"

"Kristy says, Capn' LeBlanc has a tiara lock'd up in a safe behind a picture o' Venus in his quarters," Maren passed on.

Hissing, LeBlanc muttered in French, before realization dawned, "Why ov course, I sought 'twas peculiar for Jacque to travel wiz a voman…uneless, you be ze medium he waz searshing for, may wee?"

Suddenly, Jack took a step meaningfully intimidating, piercing eyes wiping the sneer off of LeBlanc's face, "No more Jean-Pierre, yer man attacked me after surrender, I be in me rights to sail Le Petite in a fiery inferno directly to Davey Jones's with every Frog aboard blazing too. Insteady, ye and me are goin' to fetch that bleedin' tiara and whatever else be in that iron box o' yers, then we have a heart-to-heart, 'bouts if the subject should come up, how old Sparrow's gone soft and is sailin' with his latest mistress, 'cause right now I'm takin' the word medium out o' yer English vocabulary, savvy?" He cocked his pistol and gestured LeBlanc towards the captain's quarters.

"Cap'n Sparrow?" a large pirate, in charge of flogging Roberto waved Jack over, "I-I got a problem!"

"What?" Jack was loosing his cheery disposition, annoyance creeping into his voice. He left LeBlanc to Gibbs' guard and stalked over to see what the massive sailor was pointing at, "Why ye clever bugger ye," tattooed over every inch of Roberto's bare back, was a colossal portrait of Jesus Christ.

"Please Cap'n Sparrow," the ogre blubbered, "Do'n make me whip our Lord and Savior, me mum would roll over in her grave if she knew!"

Sighing and shooing him away, "Fine, fine," Jack took the lash himself. Now as Jack had stated before, he wasn't a religious man, always having the doubting certainty that if Jesus of Nazareth ever personally met Jack in the flesh, the Son of God might recant on his declaration of _all_ men being spared from Hell. Yet, with the King of King's gazing benevolently from some cur's back, brown eyes so loving and forgiving, Jack just couldn't bring himself to do it. Better safe than sorry, he declared. Resentfully, he tossed the whip away, mumbling frustrated to whoever might be listening. Compromising as best he could, Jack punched the bound Roberto squarely across the jaw, "Let that be a lesson to ye!" he waggled his finger.

0000000

"_Sing me a song,_

_Of a lad that is gone!_

_Say could that lad be I?_

_Merry o' soul_

_He sail'd on a day_

_Over the sea to Skye!_"

Maren was drunk, and when Maren was drunk, she sang, her trilling mezzo-soprano delighting her pirate audience. It was night and the crew of the Black Pearl was celebrating their victory and Le Petite's embarrassment. Some pirates were playing instruments, some were dancing, all were clapping, and more were drinking. They whistled to Maren, not demeaning and lewd, but admiring and fondly. Flattered, Maren curtsied, spreading her satin skirts like wings, she had changed into the olive dress for the festivities.

"Miss Attle," Nathan piped up, and immediately regretted it, his face purple from mortification. The activities all silenced and gazed expectantly at the red-hair-and-faced boy, "Would…would ye care to dance with…with me?"

The chorus of cheers that burst from the crew was deafening, a chanting looming up, "Nathan! Nathan! Nathan!"

"Why I be honored," Maren reached her hands out to take his and they twirled around the deck when the music commenced, Maren leading and ignoring the occasional stomp on her feet as Nathan garbled apologies. The song was lively and quick and the crewmembers jeered playfully at their little 'lady charmer'.

In the crow's nest, high above, Jack had retreated to better watch the fun. He wasn't being antisocial, wasn't Jack's way, he needed to be alone with his Pearl was all, suitably thank her for all her talents. As he stared down, feeling the slightest twinge like God must feel, he followed Maren's every movement. From the mugs of mead she knocked back like any man, employment in pub must honed that particular skill, to the pretty chanteys she belted out, more on key than Jack ever hoped to be. She was so merry, spinning Nathan about the floor, laughing and singing along to the music. Jack decided he required a dance too, but for now contented himself with watching her.

The number was over far too soon and Nathan said a hurried, "Thank ye!" his pubescent voice cracking, before bolting down below.

"_Hope he do'n go to the port closet to wank off,_" Kristy spun around dancing as well, "_That be where me threesome headin' tonight!_" On cue, Paulson, Newall, and Teller strolled away from the carousing and nonchalantly existed below. Kristy applauded, "_Ooh! There they go, see ye 'round Maren!_" The wraith sunk under the floor, grinning sadistically.

'Bye, ye deviant pervert ye!' Maren said outloud the universal motto of all drunks, "I love her, she be a good friend, God I love her!" The music picked up again, a gay Irish jig this time. Tipsy but stable, Maren hunted for another face she knew, "Mister Gibbs!" she cried, swooping down upon the first mate in a crowd of drinkers, "Mister Gibbs dance with me!"

"No, no, no," Gibbs resisted her feeble tugging on his arm, "I do'n dance a lick!" However, he was powerless to oppose the unanimous shove the group gave to his back, bellowing their teasing. He staggered unsure along with Maren, eyes bolted to their prancing feet, sweating bullets and occasionally chortling at his clumsiness.

"Anamaria, will ye dance with me?" some unlucky pirate was struck firmly across the face.

"Ye doin' fine Mister Gibbs," Maren twittered, "A natural, I swear!"

"Liar!" he retorted, panting for air.

Again the song ended and Gibbs bowed grandly to Maren, then to the heckling assembly around them. John "Cupid" Thomas, nicknamed Cupid because of his pretty boyish looks he still wore at age twenty-five, approached Maren, and it could've been her imagination or the booze but she swore the revelry quieted a bit. "Will you dance with me?" he asked gently, heavy-lidded.

Jack saw Cupid strut over to Maren like a peacock and talk with her, no genius required to guess what he was saying. 'I want me dance now,' glaring, he climbed down from the crow's nest.

Charmed, Maren nodded happily, swooning into his arms as he led, unlike her two prior partners who dragged behind her like sagging meat. She lost herself in the cheery music, dizzy from the spinning, but unwilling to stop. The dance was a polka, upbeat and catchy, Maren hummed along, leaning her head onto Thomas's shoulder. Her vision pointed away from him, so Maren missed the bawdy wink he gave his fellows or the lick of his lips.

"Psst! Cupid, Cap'n's coming!" a hoarse whisperer warned Thomas, who promptly released Maren and disappeared.

"Hey," Maren complained before focusing her vision on Jack's smirking figure, "Jack!" gleefully she stretched her arms out to him, "Dance with me!" she juvenilely whined.

"Ye know the song boys!" bellowing, Jacked motioned to the players to begin. A familiar and favorite tune sounded, chorusing the splendid pirate's life. "Ye gave me a start ye," Jack said conversationally as he gathered her in his arms, one hand draped around her waist, urging her closer, and the other hand clasping hers tenderly.

"How's that?" allowing Jack to set the pace, she was reminded of the overpowering waltz he swept her into in Tortuga after he'd kissed her. This time she moved willingly with him, fully appreciating his grace and enjoying the flex and ripple of muscles pressed against her. They danced closer than her three previous partners and their teasing eyes never separating.

"Heard that singing, thought some mermaid had swam aboard me Pearl."

"No," Maren furrowed her brow, mock-confused, "a mermaid couldn't iii_swim_iii aboard a ship, she'd have to sort o' swim and then jump like a dolphin does!"

"Would ye just take the bloody compliment, Maren?"

"Would ye just say the bloody compliment, Jack?"

He laughed down at her and conceded, "Ye have a very beautiful voice."

"Thank you," Maren toyed absentmindedly with Jack's looped earring with her free hand, oblivious to Jack's sharp inhale. "Did it hurt?"

Of course Jack had speculated many times prior on the sexual experiences of Maren, could hardly call himself a man if he didn't wonder. Until then, he hadn't been completely convinced of her virginity, women were notoriously devious when it came to their maidenheads and Jack had been tricked before. But this was the irrefutable proof, Maren was absolutely ignorant that by fiddling with something as supposedly innocent as an ear, she was electrocuting every nerve in his body, charging his flesh with erotic intentions. She had no clue whatsoever. He finally answered, hidden chuckles seeping out, "Only the first time luv, littl' sting is all, the others were quite…enjoyable."

"Enjoyable? Be barbaric if ye ask me, shovin' metal bits in one's skin," shuddering Maren, peered curiously at Jack who was slowing their dance, a decisive sheen in his eye.

"Maren," Jack drew their dance to an end, but kept his hands lingering in place, "I just 'member'd, I wanted to show ye the tiara Kristy found…she here now?"

"No," she answered evasively, "Should I fetch her?"

"No!" he said perhaps louder then intended. For what he _really_ wanted, the absence of Kristy was a necessity, "I'll just be showin' ye, for now anyway."

Like Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, Maren went freely to Grandma's House. The fact that the Cap'n was retiring to his cabin with a beautiful woman, didn't escape the attention of the crew, but they grinned silently and saved their heckles for the morning.

Upon reaching the door, Jack scolded Maren as he gestured to the mangled window now bordered up, "Ye broke me window!"

"Aye well…ye bit me!" Maren said matter-a-fact, "Even!" Thrusting the door open, Jack motioned for Maren to enter first, she did. "Where is it?" eagerly Maren asked.

"Dining table," before shutting the door, Jack caught the leering glances of some of his crew, he winked and held his finger up to his pursed lips for silence.

"Wow!" the shock in her voice informed Jack that Maren had located the tiara. She was examining the small diamond and sapphire crown dreamily in her hands, eyes alight like those jewels, "No wonder LeBlanc took the trouble to hide it, it's incredible-,"

The locking of the door spoke clearly and concisely through Maren's intoxication. Spinning around, she glared at Jack propped up leisurely against the door, twirling the keys around his fingers and staring at her darkly. "Third condition, Cap'n, no sportin'," she cautioned him in a singsong voice.

"Aye I know, I know," mournfully Jack tossed the keys aside and swaggered towards Maren, "But I got somethin' else in mind, believe it or not."

"Drinkin' involv'd?" the question stopped Jack dead in his tracks, shocked. Maren rolled her eyes, "Right, course there is."

"And," Jack raised a finger, jogging towards his latched trunk.

"Chocolates?" excited, Maren interrupted.

"Aye chocolates too, if ye like," offhandedly he added, striking the chest with his fist to unclasp the locks. Opening it, he retrieved a bottle of champagne, a bigger, Maren had annihilated the box last night, bag of chocolates, and finally, "Close them blue eyes Maren."

"Yer out o' yer mind," she snipped, "not with a knave like ye 'bouts."

"Please," he exaggerated a pout, swaying to and for as his lip stuck out, "it be a surprise, honest!"

Like a martyr she sighed, clamping her eyes tightly shut, but keeping keen ears for Jack's boots approaching too close. She heard some rustling and clinking, then Jack rising to his feet, but he stayed his distance, "Right me dear, have a look-see!"

Blinking, Maren saw Jack before her, his eyebrow quipped and the devil's own smile gracing his lips. In his proffered hands, an ornately decorated pipe with a glass bowl attached to the top, "Opium?"

"Aye," Jack explained, "have to be makin' this a secret though, 'tween ye and me. Found this in LeBlanc's safe too. Now, I do'n allow me men to be chasin' the dragon while they sail on me ship and usually, what I do'n permit them to do, I do'n be doin' either," shrugging flamboyantly, Jack made the excuse, "but this bein' yer first pirate battle and all, I decree it a special occasion."

Maren shook her head, skeptically, "I be flatter'd Jack, but I do'n hold with no opium."

"Oh," masking his disappointment, Jack commented dryly, "I suspects ye right, dainty thing like ye mixin' alcohol and opium, be retchin' up in me quarters all night."

Biting the bait, Maren fixed fists to hips and bristled, "Dainty thing? For yer information Cap'n Jack, I have'n vomitt'd since I was thirteen-year-old gel. If ever there was a woman what could hold her drinks, I be that woman!"

Slamming the proverbial trap shut, Jack offered her the pipe, "Prove it," he challenged.

0000000

"So like," Maren hushed Jack even after he finally managed to stop giggling, "What if…we agin' backwards, ye know, like we be born all old and then instead o' diein', we just be crawlin' back up into our mother's womb? Eh? Think about it."

"Whoa," Jack exhaled more smoke, waving his hands in the cloud it produced.

Maren and Jack, in drug induced inspiration, had removed all the pillows and blankets and even Jack's mattress to spread about on the floor, to create their very own opium den, Jack insisting this was how things were done in the Orient. Now they reclined on the ground head to toe from each other, gazing happily glazed eyes towards the ceiling, Maren even wore the tiara on her head, but it was lopsided. The champagne and chocolates were ingested long ago, but they still had the opium pipe, which they passed casually between them. Every time, Maren pressed her lips to the mouthpiece, she imagined Jack's lips upon it as well.

"Ye know, I envy ye," at her persistent tapping, he handed her the pipe, "Ye goin' to converse with _the_ Cap'n James Romulus, the Father of all Pirates."

"The father of all pirates," Maren repeated for no reason other than it sounded neat. "Pir-ates, pi-rates, pirates," she said somewhat satisfied.

"What the hell was that?" Jack started laughing again.

"It be a fun word, ye know?" Maren reiterated, "_Pi-rates_ sort o' like a pie with rats…I do'n know, stealin' it o' somethin'."

"Maren?" fidgeting, he grasped her hand and started examining the fingers, "Maren, Maren, Maaarreeen, that be a fun word too. Its also one o' them…wossaname…tip o' me tongue…means two things, same time, innuendo!" Jack beamed triumphantly.

"Inn-uen-do," spoke Maren.

"Aye, yer name means 'from the sea' like marine, get it?"

"Whoa," she blew more smoke, this time from her nose.

"I like yer name."

"I like yer name too, Jack," they giggled to themselves.

"Jaaaack?"

"Maaareeen?"

"What ye feel like right now?" stretching, Maren reached her arms above her head, straightening out the tiara, which only increased the amount of tangle in her hair. She couldn't be bothered, only extended further, hissing as every muscle in his body twitched suggestively.

"What?"

"Ye know, what does opium do to ye? It be different for everyone."

"Do'n know, maybe relaxed? Definitely thirsty, everything be a damn lot funnier I can promise ye that," vaguely, he sensed a strange vibration from Maren as she stretched again, sniggering as bones popped, tugging away at Jack's hazy comprehension. "Why? What ye feel?"

A laugh, so deliciously intriguing it slapped Jack's libido cross the face, basked from Maren's mouth, "I feel…sensual…very, very sensual." Maren was becoming deeply enthralled with this new emotion, like a seducing wine, a delicious chocolate, soft inviting satin, Maren was feeling _desirable_.

Jack felt his blood simmer to boiling and they lulled into silence. Reluctantly, Jack accepted that she probably didn't know what she was saying and resolved himself to a change in subject matter, "Quit hoggin' the smoke, Maren, give Jack a puff."

"Too…out o' it Jack, get it yerself," whispered Maren. Grudgingly, Jack sat up, ignoring the slight vertigo that touched his head. Maren still had the opium pipe clasped in her right hand which was stretched above her head. Crawling gracefully like a cat, Jack leaned over her strewn form, reaching for the pipe, "Jack?" Maren murmured quietly, causing Jack to peer down at her, their heads now level, faces a foot apart. "Do ye want me Jack?" her eyes reflected blue flashes in the candlelight.

"Aye," Jack replied plainly, huskily.

One small hand curled around the collar of Jack's shirt and pulled him down to her. Their lips touched lightly at first, just a solid press of mouth, testing the waters, but Maren's tug was insistent and the kiss deepened deliciously. Tongues caressed lovingly, and lips stretched to claim the other. The movements were slow and languid, nothing like the frenzy experienced in Tortuga. Opium had loosened Maren's voice and now she was exotically moaning deep alto delights into Jack's questing mouth.

He still hovered above her, propped up on his hands in the world's most pleasurable push-up. Maren's hands were beginning to travel, one dove into the mass of charmed hair upon Jack's head, the other meekly stroked his neck with her fingernails. Breaking the kiss, glad to hear Maren's wanton groan, Jack muttered, breathy, in her ear, "Do ye want me Maren?" then sucked her lobe aggressively into his mouth, nibbling teasingly.

"Oh Jack…yes!" she choked, turning her mouth to meet his again. The rising temperature between them gave way to more fevered kisses, now loudly smacking in the quiet room.

Suddenly, Jack's quite unfamiliar conscious became obnoxiously talkative, 'She be drunk, Jack.'

'So am I,' he retorted.

'You did this on purpose, Jack'

'So what?'

'So she'll be mad, Jack.'

'She'll get over it.'

'She'll be _hurt_, Jack."

'…no she wo'n,' but there was less conviction there, 'She said so herself, she wants me.'

'So why drink and drug her, Jack?'

'That's not how it went!' the defense was viable in Jack's opinion.

'Sure Jack, whatever ye say.'

'Shut it, ye talk too much. Did'n I drown ye in alcohol along time ago?'

'Ye cheat'd to have her.'

'Pirate,' was all Jack replied.

Resolutely, Jack's thoughts returned full force to the withering barmaid below him. She was arching her body, with some ache she couldn't name yet, frustrated that there was no other contact against it, Jack still suspended out of reach. Using his elbow to prop himself up next to her, he freed his left hand to caress her bare shoulder. This tiny touch was exactly what Maren was searching for and she greedily sucked Jack's bottom lip in her stimulation, begging for more. Jack growled his appreciation, viciously attacking her elegant neck, nipping and licking a trail from ear to collarbone. Maren tossed her head from side to side, dizzy from the passion and the opium in her blood, somewhere something stirred, a strange new sensation craved acutely like a ravenous hunger.

Desirous fingers swooped from tickling the shoulder, to groping her left breast, demanding and rough, while he still voraciously sucked at her throat. "Oh…god," Maren whimpered, now intensely aware of Jack's breathing, it was ragged and shallow, almost animalistic and all together blatantly male. His slick tongue lapped down her chest and to the generous swell of cleavage he had admired since their first encounter. Two dark eyes pinned their sight onto Maren as he sank his teeth greedily over the crest of her heaving bust, erotically enchanted by the harsh cry that fell from her swollen lips and the curving of her neck while she tensed, then abruptly relaxed.

"Did'n mind _that_ bite, did ye now?" blowing cool air against her wet bosom, he kissed it tenderly, and then licked dreamily, "In fact Maren, ye'll have to ask me nice and sweet-like to bite ye again." Silence and stillness answered, "Maaarreeeennn?" he cooed childishly, "Come on, beg a littl'-," Jack was interrupted, not by an imploring medium, or by a moan, not even a snivel, but by a delicate tiny snore. "No, no, no," quickly, he brought his face to hers, indeed Maren's eyes were closed and lips partly open, unquestionably asleep. "Son o' a bitch!" pounding his fist on the wood floor, he groaned, his erection now painful in its strain against its bindings. Vainly, he attempted to wake her by tapping her cheek lightly, "Come on now luv, ye can't be leavin' ole Jack like this, he needs ye real bad!" The slumbering maiden was as stubborn as Sleeping Beauty in her tower. He kissed her desperately, shoving his tongue into an unresponsive mouth, "Please Maren, lookie, I be the one beggin' now, aint that fun?…Oh Shit!" Bitterly, he accepted a cruel and, in his opinion, unjust defeat. Jack rolled off of Maren, mindful of his swollen organ, before methodically and precisely banging his head upon the floor a few times, "Ye'll be the death o' me."

'And that's how Jack learn'd his lesson 'bout mixin' alcohol, drugs, and sex!' the conscious returned.

'Oh…sod off!'

0000000

Kristy was gazing at the stars in the crow's nest, ignoring the sleeping Nathan who should be alert and on duty. It had been a good night she decided, even though she couldn't partake in the more carnal pleasure of the evening, it was still a terrific spectacle to behold. Dancing, music, bawdy tales and jokes, and to top her off, the three handsome devils in the port closest not only performed an energetic show, but rallied the strength to make an encore. Quite an evening…

A door banging open and shut stirred her from her musings, but failed to arise the cabin boy from his slumber. Most of the crew had already retired, to Kristy's dismay for people are categorically boring in sleeping, Kristy had thought Maren was among them. Only a skeleton crew kept the ship sailing. Daring to dream something of interest was happening, Kristy sunk down the mast and steadied herself upon the upper deck. Well indeed, something of interest was occurring. She blinked her ghost eyes twice, but the image before remained the same, Jack was carrying Maren like a babe, her olive skirt draping down and a magnificent tiara perched upon her hair. Maren's head was limply resting against Jack's shoulder, mouth gaping as she quietly snored. Hustling, Kristy reached the couple, snarling, "_If ye responsible for this Sparrow, I'll swear I be goin' poltergeist on ye sorry ship!_"

The Black Pearl focused onto the irate spirit and Kristy felt it watching, "_Course Maren be a big gel, what can take care o' herself,_" she added hastily, nervously avoiding any conflict with a thing that shouldn't technically be able to focus in on anything.

Jack slipped below deck and down the hallway, kicking open the guest quarters. Unceremoniously, he plopped Maren onto the bed, sighing again in self-pity. He stalled before leaving, tenderly swiping her hair away from her face with ringed fingers. Sentimentality got the better of him and Jack removed her boots for her, tickling her toes briefly to check for any response, there was none. Peeling the blankets from under her, he tucked her in. Sure, he could've stripped her naked and rid himself of the tension in his trousers right then, but that just wasn't Jack's _way_, he'd rather hump a corpse. "Kristy," Jack spoke to thin air, "If ye here, ye be me witness, did'n lay an indecent hand on her, savvy?"

Kristy, who was lying on the bed next to Maren, nodded though, of course, Jack didn't see. He peered suspiciously about and left shutting the door behind him, with one last regretful look at Maren seducing, but still very unconscious, body. Then the door burst open again-

"Almost forgot something," Jack nabbed the tiara off of Maren's head, smiling to himself before placing it on his on head and swaggering off.

"_Is that opium I smell?_" tsk-ing Kristy abandoned Maren to sleep it off, continuing her track in permanent insomnia.

0000000

Her head hurt, Maren's head _really_ hurt, and the sorry dog-romper shouting, "Land ho! Port Royale!" didn't help.


	9. Failure

_Chapter Nine: Failure_

Her head hurt, Maren's head _really_ hurt, and the sorry dog-romper shouting, "Land ho! Port Royale!" didn't help.

Smacking her lips, Maren's mouth tasted like dust and had the moisture consistency thereof. Her head kept spinning like a hurricane complete with the most insignificant noise striking like thunder in her ears. Numb thoughts inquired to why she had worn her satin dress, the ill-fitting attire now unbearable tight, to bed, but answers were not forthcoming and concentrating on them gave her headache an unpleasant jolt.

Wobbling on stiff legs, she hauled herself over to the vanity, gratefully gasping when the cool water from her washbasin soothed some of her more prominent symptoms. She drank some water, the fresh liquid smothering her dry mouth. Very sore, she grunted appreciatively, stretching and cracking her back and neck, thankful to discover some of the tension of her hangover was receding. Appalled at her mass of snarled hair still partially braided, Maren attacked it mercilessly with a comb until in hung from her head like a flawless golden waterfall.

Unfortunately, she was finishing her long braid when it hit…every single lucid detail of the night prior spawned into her memory, overwhelming and ruthless. "Oh god," she squeaked meekly, veiling her pale face in her hands. Her stomach tightened into an aching knot of mortification, had she eaten breakfast, she most definitely would have retched it up from sheer embarrassment. 'Kristiiieee!" Maren sent what was the equivalent of a psychic screech and with her gift, sensed Kristy's speedy approach.

She had _thrown_ herself at him, wanton and waiting, like a harlot under the pier, lifting her skirts to flaunt the goods to the customers. What a hypocrite she was! No better than the adulterous wife, proclaiming her virtues on the streets, but spreading her legs in the closet. Ashamed, Maren feared what Kristy might think, sure the ghost prostitute was always teasing Maren to have a little fun, but deep down, hidden in her soul, was a begging, a secret prayer, "_Please Maren, please don't be like me, aint no price worth yer dignity._" All that pride, Kristy had painfully instilled in her, defeated by what? A bottle of champagne, a bag of chocolates, an opium pipe,…and _him_!

A red-hot rage boiled in her heart, burning to ash any sentiment there had been for Jack. She knew it! Since the very first moment she suspected that his seemingly permanent inebriation was actually a queer form of eccentric intelligence, she knew his clever tongue and nimble hands were playing a perverse game with the world around him. And she, the medium barmaid, was his latest game piece, the newest acquisition!

He had orchestrated her like a symphony, every pitch, every note, even the tempo. The entire event was an elaborate scheme! The opium, her attempted resistance, the tiara, the dance, hell, Maren didn't put it past him to have concocted the whole sword-through-the-shirt-episode to trick her. And oh god, what a fool she'd been then! Swooning towards him, actually weeping with grief, while he just twiddled his mustache and plotted her downfall. Jack was seducing her and she, even in the height of her fury, knew she was powerless to stop it. A terrible twisted part of her wanted to be _used_ by Jack, for Jack, to Jack…all for Jack. The guilt was cruel and she had to escape it!

"_Maren!_" Kristy phased through the ceiling, "_Mother o' God, what is it!_" She expected from the urgency of the summons, or at least its volume, that Maren was fighting for her very life. Irritation replaced panic, when Kristy saw Maren safe and sound, if not fuming under the collar, "_I half thought ye was witherin' in the grip o' Satan hiself for all that noise! Do'n be doin' that 'gain, less it be an emergency, ye hear?_"

'What happen'd last night?' Maren snipped, coldly.

"_Ye tell me, ye littl' dragon chaser,_" playfully, Kristy rubbed her index fingers together, "_Can smell that poppy a mile away._"

Briefly, Maren flashed back to childhood, when Kristy would catch her lying about washing her face before dinner, but she chased the memory away. She wasn't a girl anymore! So what if she smokes opium? Kristy certainly didn't seem to mind. 'I _meant_,' she communicated concisely, 'How did I get back in here?'

"_Jack,_" Kristy pointed from door to bed to Maren, "_Carri'd ye like a bride and toss'd ye on the bed. Even took off yer shoes and tuck'd ye in. Quite gentlemanly of him really, considerin' ye did'n even get him off, judgin' by that stiffer he was packin'!_"

Flinging her plaited hair over her shoulder, Maren stuck her noise in the air, "If he would've had his way, I'd be tangl'd in his sheets right now!"

"_How, in the name o' all that fucks, could that be a bad thing!_"

Maren stared incredulously at Kristy for a long moment. Some decision was being weighed thoroughly, Kristy knew it. She also knew there would be no swaying the stubborn Maren once she made it and a sinking dread, told Kristy this revelation would most definitely not be in Jack's favor.

'We're leavin'!' Maren proclaimed, writing each word in stone.

Snorting, Kristy crossed her arms over her chest, "_Aye, right!_" but Maren's demeanor didn't change. "_Ye be serious?_" she asked, "_But-but…how?_"

'This is Port Royale,' Maren stated perceptively, 'More Brit battleships here than all the English Channel! I just got to gets off this bleedin' boat, then I can sound the alarm,' her fists clenched in excitement.

"_Off this boat?_" exasperated, Kristy quickly rectified, "_Ship-I mean ship!_" before the Black Pearl could focus her unnerving awareness on Kristy, "_Ye make it sound like soddin' a fifteen-year-old boy, wham, bam, thank ye mam! Case it be escapin' yer attention, there are a mass o' dirty pirates up on deck! They aint exactly goin' to be wavin' ye goodbye, Pet!_"

'Did I say I had all wrinkles iron'd out?' hands on hips, Maren turned towards the door, 'I be improvising as I go 'long here! I'm positive an opportunity will present itself, even if I has to swim to shore! The resolve and strength in her voice could carve granite, 'Now are ye with me?' she glanced over her shoulder at Kristy.

Huffing, and releasing a ghostly puff of air while she was at it, Kristy sighed, "_Aye, when I ever been otherwise, eh?_" trailing behind, Kristy floated as Maren tiptoed along to the deck. "_It's just I thought…thought we was enjoyin' ourselves is all,_" she mourned regretfully, "_And what about the bloomin' treasure? We suppos'd to be settin' ourselves up for life…well yer life actually, me afterlife anyway._" Frustrated, Kristy was snatching at straws, anything to assuage Maren's determination.

'Yer missin' the point!' pausing Maren waited for a nearby hall to clear of its pirate occupants before scurrying down, 'I was kidnapp'd for Christ's sake, I did'n ask for this! Deal o' no deal, does'n amend the fact I be here 'gainst me will!' Maren approached the stair to the lower deck and slowly crawled up, eyes peering to the sky and ears alert for footsteps, 'Besides, it'll do the fine Cap'n good to loosen his sails a bit.'

"_I like Jack,_" Kristy said defensively, then added, "_By the way, what happen'd last night? Spare me no bawdy disgustin' detail, I want it all!_"

Conveniently ignoring her, Maren hissed, 'Quite yer drabble and skip up there, will ye? Holler when the coast is clear.'

To her credit, Kristy didn't pester Maren about the suspicious change of subject, instead, raised her wraith shape upward and on deck, a knowing smile upon her lips. "_Wow, lookin' very busy up here all right, as active as altar boys when Father Feeley comes a prechin'!_" she called out to Maren, "_Reckon ye could waltz out here stark naked and none o' these peckers be takin' notice._" Questing eyes sought Jack, but to no avail, "_Do'n spy the Cap'n anywhere though, could be below maybe._"

'Good,' Maren affirmed.

"What we peepin' at luv?" Jack unexpectedly whispered hoarsely in Maren's ear. Somehow that pirate captain had stealthily slid behind her and was now crouching over her, mouth nuzzling her neck.

Shrieking in fright, Maren would have surely slid painfully down the stairs but Jack righted her gently, juvenilely laughing like a boy with a fake-spider, "Aint ye jittery!" he spun her about firmly to see her face. The moment he looked upon her expression, the friendly grin vanished, replaced by a slit-eyed smirk that Maren was coming to recognize as Jack's _stare_.

All too late she attempted to correct her treacherous features. Her body was too tense, her smile reeked of panic, her eyes deliberately avoided his less they catch the guilty sheen to her irises, and even her eyebrows defied her by arching in desperation. In short, Maren could not have appeared less conspicuous had she tattooed her intentions upon her breasts.

Jack cupped her chin and forced Maren to return his gaze and again Maren was distracted by how very exotic and enticing he was. The beads clinked as he cocked his head, glints of gold shimmered in his smile, and those brown clever eyes wrapped in mysterious kohl impelled her to obey. "What ye up to Maren?" he spoke softly, but the mischievous sheen to his soul glimmered and taunted her, dared her to challenge him.

This time Maren rejected his bait, "Nothing." Her voice hitched, yet another clue to her deception, "I…I just-just was curious…'bout the ship anchorin' is all." Her vision darted straight over Jack's left shoulder, failing to meet the _stare_, "Thought I take a gander, nothin' wrong with that is there?"

"_Pet, there be a reason whey ye a barmaid and not a actress, I've seen more convincing lies come out of drowned rats from a chamber pot,_" Kristy was peering over the stairwell.

For a while, Jack didn't respond, only wetted his lips and cracked his fingers with rancor. His patience was dueling with his manners, or lack thereof, and finally he decided. "Well then, lucky for ye I came to fetch ye," the cheery grin bloomed again and he dominantly grasped her by the elbow, tugging her on deck. Indeed, the crewmembers were vigorous at work, tightening sails, steadying the masts, and preparing the anchor. They waggled their eyebrows at Maren while Jack escorted her to upper deck. She glared vengefully back.

"What we doin'?" Maren asked meekly.

"Well we be bringin' in the Black Pearl to bay so we can drop anchor," Jack and Maren arrived in front of the helm, "and yer getting' the best seat in the house-or ship rather and technically ye'll be standin' not sittin'." Pinky pointed and arm dancing, Jack rambled.

Testing a docile pull against Jack's iron grip, which didn't budge or relent, Maren pleaded, "I was plannin' on watchin' from the stem." She gazed longingly towards the breast of the Black Pearl.

"Nonsense," snapped Jack, "Helm's the proper place for observations, this be a treat for ye…I _insist_." That 'insist' spoke volumes more than Jack had actually said. It illustrated quite clearly that, 'Aye Maren, I know what yer thinkin' and there aint no escape occurrin' savvy? Yer goin' to wait here quiet like a good littl' medium whiles I anchor me Pearl and if ye have a quarrel with that I'll be lockin' ye back in the brig faster than ye can turn me randy, which is pretty damn quick, let me tell ye!'

Grudgingly, Maren bit out, "Whatever yer whim, Cap'n."

"Oh, I like the sound o' that," surprising Maren, Jack didn't release her to stand submissively by his side, but rather steered her between himself and the helm, his arms securing the rungs, trapping her. So apparently, Jack didn't just intend to keep an eye on Maren, he intended to keep possession of her as well, "Now pay attention."

Maren watched the approaching land, still foggy in the early morning. The fog, while undoubtedly a blessing, hiding the Pearl's crafty approach, must certainly be a dilemma as well. Looming rocks emerged from the milky mist with rarely any warning of their presence. Gradually, a gigantic black mass grew outward, reminding Maren of a ravenous mouth or a massive pit, but as the Black Pearl drew nearer, it became clear it was a cavernous overhang, the perfect hiding spot. Yet, even a nautical amateur like Maren could tell parking the Pearl into a cave over the shore would be exceedingly difficult. Stunned with herself, Maren discovered she was not worried in the least, somewhere in her, there was a strong conviction, Jack, for all his other dubious faults, could do this, easily.

Absentmindedly, Jack fumbled in his jacket for his flask of gin, leaving one steady hand to steer. His eyes merrily danced upon the diminishing horizon as the hidden cove gaped ahead. One skilled finger, practiced by habit, twirled the cap off and Jack heartily gulped a hefty swig of gin, gasping an exhilarating, "Aaaahh!" right in Maren's ear. As forethought, Jack tapped her shoulder with the flask, offering her a drink.

"Thank ye," mumbling, Maren bitterly drank some, admittedly not as much as Jack, who could drown in the stuff and still perform an acrobatic assortment, but just enough to wet her cottonmouth. 'If he belches, I'm kickin' him!' she added viscously to Kristy, before returning the flask to Jack. He rhythmically screwed the cap back on and tucked it away in his jacket pocket one-handed.

"_Like ye be in any sort o' position to be passin' out threats,_" chiding, Kristy rocked childishly on her heels, "_So how ye improvin' ye way out o' this one, Pet?_"

Maren was pondering the same thing. The shadow of the overhang slowly engulfed the Pearl while she sailed under the cavernous ceiling. Behind her, Jack's breath was pulsing, not from anxiety or trepidation, but from excitement or possibly pride. If she were to lean her back into his chest, she was positive she would feel his heart pulse lively under her touch. The wind howled in the cavern, either gusting against the sails in battle or avoiding them completely, leaving the cloth lank. Spontaneous wind only contributed to the intricacy required to bay the ship and this too was Jack's element. He absolutely glowed with delight, standing like a marble statue of the god of pirating, thick hair whisking in the turbulent breeze, hat worn with all the regality of a crown, and body swaying effortlessly with the waves.

'Got meself an idea, Miss Cleverarse,' biting her lip, Maren carefully stared outward, less Jack see the spark in her face. The Black Pearl's pace remained swift, in spite of the close proximity to shore then abruptly Jack spun the helm three times around, forcing Maren to lean away cautiously avoiding a catch on the spinning rungs before her.

"Gibbs, kill the secondaries," Jack lisped his order, not bothering to turn his head or raise his voice, his authority unquestionable.

"Aye Cap'n," the first mate immediately signaled the dozen or so pirates that manned the ropes on the sister masts. Maren noticed that most of the crew was communicating through an exaggerated sign language, not speaking aloud unless they were an arms-length away. She supposed this was contributed to a sneaky advance. The two secondary sails fluttered aimlessly as more slack was permitted.

The Black Pearl creaked calmly, her motion no longer propelling her forward but towards starboard. Diagonally the deck tilted and Maren gratefully clasped at Jack's steadfast hand while he wrapped it around her waist to secure her. "That's me lady," Jack whispered adoringly and it took Maren a few seconds to deduce he was addressing his lady ship, not her. "Anchor Mister Gibbs," he finally commanded, just when it seemed he intended to beach them.

"Aye sir," another exuberant hand gesture and the clank of the release and the hiss of the chain sounded. The gigantic anchor splashed like a thunderclap in the water. It was a few tense moments before the Pearl slowed to a halt, Maren was positive they were tumbling into water too shallow to berth, but the ship smoothly stopped while Jack beamed his conceit.

"And there 'tis," bowed his head to the silent cheers and claps of the crew.

'See if a drowning rat can act better than this,' winking at Kristy, Maren was still trapped between Jack's arms and the helm. "Oh Jack!" Maren laid her clutching fingers upon her chest, huffing in shallow pants. She was facing away from him, but she batted her curly eyelashes anyway, for good measure, "That be amazin'! I'm so silly, thought we was sailing straight onto land! Should o' known better with _ye_ at helm." Lowering her eyes to her feet, she turned her head marginally so he could see her shy profile.

"Aye well," Jack lovingly patted the rungs under his hands, "Me and the Pearl, we aim to please." The golden devil's smile lit his lips again, eyebrows shooting upward with every stroke to his incredible ego.

"It's like ye two were one, really ye were _Captain_!" this last word, Maren stretched out like taffy, each consonant popping from her lips, and holding the 'n' with a tempting lap of her tongue.

"Thank ye kindly Miss Attle," she conceded to the tugging of his hands at her elbows as he turned her about to succumb to his scrupulous _stare_, "Now if ye do'n mind me askin', why were ye creepin' 'bout me ship like a thief earlier? And why ye look like I caught ye pissin' in the well?"

Maren was prepared for this interrogation and threw herself headlong into a fraudulent monologue, "Well excuse me Cap'n Sparrow!" feigning frustration, Maren whipped around, knocking Jack with her braid in the process. Fists clutched stubbornly to her sides, Maren spat vengefully, "Beggin' ye pardon, but I've never been spurn'd before and I discover the whole situation to be mortifyingly embarrassin' for me, thank ye very much!"

"Wh-what?" genuinely confused, Jack splayed his fingers in nervous shrug of incomprehension.

"Oh typical man!" Maren scorned ruthlessly, "Ye insensitive, blind, heartless, daft bastards, the lot o' ye!" accusingly she pointed around at the crew who ignored her for their chores were more demanding.

"What ye goin' on 'bout now, eh?" Jack chuckled a half-hearted laugh.

"Fine, pretend not to know," her assault dropped to a dangerously quiet growl, "Situations like last night must be a common occurrence for ye, I bet! Well they aint so common for a naïve twit like me, all right?"

Realization dawned upon Jack's expression, "Oh that!" he said, thrilled he had seemingly caught up with her raging mood swing.

Mixing a seasoning of remorse into her quaking voice, Maren mourned, "Aye that…the singular most remarkable night o' me pathetic life!" Jack's jaw dropped from its hinge, her bitching instantly becoming much more appealing to him, "'Twas so romantic, dancing, champagne, course the chocolates too…and then there was ye," she shamefully raised her dark blue eyes to him, even deeper as they sparkled with faugh tears. "Ye were so wonderful, so attentive, so very handsome to me. So what do I do! I simply react as any woman would have, offerin' me very soul and body for yer pleasure, desperately hoping I'd please ye!"

"Why Maren-."

Interrupting him scathingly, Maren shoved her index finger into his chest, directly over his stunned heart, "Then what happens, I ask ye? I wakes up by me onesies, that's what! Totally alone, cold, and exceedingly ashamed! How dare ye Jack Sparrow, toying with a woman's desires! Have ye no conscious?"

"Funny ye should mention that," he twiddled his hands around her, fraught to calm her tirade, "'Cause ye pass'd out, ye see, and-."

"Excuses!" she shouted and Jack pressed his frantic fingers to his pursed lips, vainly trying to hush her, "I should have woken up in yer arms with yer lips upon me temple Jack, but no, ye'd rather be tumblin' with one o' them paint'd ladies, I'm sure!" A pitiful whine seeped into her ranting, "What would ye want with a clumsy, stupid virgin anyway? Must have kiss'd ye somethin' terrible to have thrown me out in the cold like that…I'm such a fool-."

A fierce kiss cut off anymore of Maren's self-battering. It was considered chaste only in that Jack did not attack her mouth with his agile tongue. Instead, he brutally crashed his lips upon hers, grasping her face in his demanding hands that held her fast. His breath released raggedly against her cheek and he murmured, eyes closed with hers, "It seems a horrible misunderstanding has occurred between the two of us," several crewmembers glanced at the embracing couple, but Gibbs cleared his throat and they quickly minded their own business, "and I intend to rectify this mistake as soon as possible. Have no doubt, me dear medium, that I've crav'd nothin' more than to ravish ye completely and entirely since the very moment I first stepp'd into yer pub," another suffocating kiss punctuated this exclamation.

"Prove it!" Maren pried herself away from his pursuing hold, glaring hotly at him, "no more o' yer clever littl' games, o' yer cheap lies, o' promisin' kisses."

"Ye mean…right now?" dumbfounded at his luck, this time Jack's daft grin was authentic. "Must have done somethin' good in a previous life, God knows it weren't this one,"

"Unlesson ye comes up with 'nother one o' yer damned excuses!" she crossed her arms defiantly.

A shred of reservation forced Jack to begrudgingly warn, "I can only spare bout twenty minutes or so, ye positive ye do'n want somethin' a tad more…special? Not that it be makin' a lick o' difference to me mind, ends justifyin' the means and whatnot," he added hastily, "Its just, bein' yer first time and all."

"Now or never!" adamantly, Maren stated.

"Splendid!" clasping his hands and bowing his thanks, Jack's eyes twinkled as mischievously as his golden smirk. "Get to me cabin at once, me temptress," slapping Maren's backside, Jack either ignored or didn't notice her surprised shriek, "I'll be there momentarily." The blush painted her creamy skin again, when Jack lewdly winked and licked his lips as she scurried obediently to his quarters. This time, she didn't dare look to see the reactions of the other pirates, soon it wouldn't matter what they thought anyway.

"_So,_" Kristy was waiting for Maren inside Jack's cabin, "_Not that I be complainin' Pet, but how exactly is this,_" waving absently around the room, "_goin' to be aidin' yer escape?_"

'Watch and learn,' smugly, Maren hustled to Jack's bed. This would have to appear bona fide, the faintest hint of a con and Jack would smell her out. Her shoes and stockings were kicked off, while her sprightly fingers freed her pale hair from the braid. She splayed the blond cascade over her shoulders, wavy from its prior confinement. Crawling atop, the crisp blankets, that smelled so temptingly like Jack, that husky scent of rum and salt, Maren propped herself up on one elbow, hoisting her skirts up to show two alluring calves and her dainty feet. 'Sultry, think sultry,' she reminded herself, pushing her bust up with one arm, a beautiful heaving valley of flesh. Her other hand was raised to her temple, dreamy fingers twirling a strand of silky hair. Half-lidded eyes smoldered towards the door and thus she reclined, her lips parted in an inviting smile.

She had to wait long enough to feel foolish, before Jack burst in loudly, startling her slightly. His kohl eyes burned along her form, appraising the pretty picture of attraction she illustrated as tangible as any passionate caress. Obviously, satisfied with what he beheld, he turned around to quickly lock the door, "God bless me," he sang to himself. "I was able to buy us half-an-hour, so let's be makin' it count, savvy?" Striding to her, his boots rapping on the floor, Jack divested his hat and coat on the dining table, followed by the red sash, and set to work on his belt. A surge of panic shot Maren off the bed like a bullet, losing Jack's weapons would definitely be a wrench in her plan.

Halting any progress he was making with his belt, Maren threw herself against Jack and the pirate was all too happy to accommodate her weight. Drawn like magnets, their mouths sprang together. If prior kisses had been battles, this kiss was war. Bites mixed indiscriminately with caresses, teeth harshly trapping lips and tongues taunting flesh. Jack lapped ravenously at her mouth, Maren tasting so much like champagne and, of course, creamy chocolates to his questing tongue. Clumsy, shaking hands attempted to remove his waistcoat and having mercy, Jack broke the kiss, relishing the inaudible whine as he pulled away, then helped in the removal of his vest.

"Oh Cap'n," she moaned charmingly, eyes tracing the exposed skin under the part in his white shirt, only to be followed by nervous fingers a moment later, caressing from his throat down to his chest. All his willpower was barely enough to restrain him under her shy explorations, but somehow he was controlled and held still while she examined her first touch of the male body. Rallying her courage while standing on tiptoe, Maren pressed hungry lips to his neck, tentatively licking and tasting his sweaty skin. The growl that sounded from his mouth was so wanton and lustful, Maren was sorely tempted to abandon her escape plans and delve into the carnal pleasures Jack was offering her, but this was impossible. Maren's mind was determined and nothing ever swayed her resolve.

Continuing her ministrations at his collarbone, remembering how incredibly good it had felt to her last night, Maren's hands wandered down Jack's muscular back to his waist. Roughly, she yanked the tail of his shirt out of his trousers, grazing his flesh with her persistent fingernails. Chuckling, Jack's fingers once again moved to unbuckle his belt, his holster and sword along with it and yet again Maren stopped him by grabbing his hands and resolutely placing them upon her bosom.

"Anxious luv?" Jack squeezed her presented flesh greedily, smirking when Maren lulled her head back in an overwhelming moan. "So am I," more growling as Jack ruthlessly attacked her mouth again. One hand continuing the violent demands upon her breast, the other callously seizing a handful of her hair, pulling her head back roughly to better access that viper tongue of hers.

The moment of truth had arrived, all Maren required was a distraction and there was only one idea that dominated her oversexed mind. While one hand urgently un-tucked the front of his shirt, the other nimbly traveled downward, to a place of fantastic mystery for an innocent such as Maren. Her fingers warily touched the prominent bulge hidden under his trousers and the gasp and groan that tore from his lips into her still seeking mouth encouraged her to grow bolder. This time she caressed with an aggressive palm, impressed with what was evidently a generous size and shape.

"Sweet siren Maren-," but that's as far as he uttered, silenced by the barrel of his own pistol pressing under his chin. Apparently while that nimble palm was extracting the most exquisite fondling of his sexual life, the other treacherous hand had moved from struggling with his shirt to robbing his holster of his gun. Sighing, he rolled his chocolate stained eyes heavenward and plainly relented, "Ye clever gel."

"_Oh come on Pet!_" Kristy yelled indignantly, "_Things were just getting' good!_" then somewhat apologized, "_By the way, I always said ye should o' tried the theatre, ye be a bloomin' natural!_"

"My my Cap'n Sparrow, looks like ye not the only one with a load'd pistol," sassily Maren quipped, a tormenting smirk snidely leering at Jack then at his visible erection.

"Ha ha," he laughed sarcastically, "Is this some sort o' escape attempt?" the wicked grin returned as Jack asked hopefully, "O' are ye plannin' on utterly dominatin' me, tyin' me to that bed, spankin' all the naughtiness out o' me hide, havin' ye dastardly way with me over and over and over 'gain 'till I begs ye for mercy? 'Cause I personally be inclin'd towards the latter if it's all the same to ye."

"No Jack, I be escapin'," she vehemently shoved his hands off her person.

Disappointment causing him to pout cutely, Jack forfeited, "Well we can always save that fantasy for a rainy night, I suppose."

Maren bit with mock-courtesy, "Let's get on with it, shall we? This is the deal, we strut out o' here nice and calm, we climb into a longboat, and ye'll order yer men to lower us down. Then ye'll be rowin' us to shore and escortin' me to Port Royale, savvy? And just to show ye I aint a completely cold-heart'd bitch-."

"Cold chance in hell o' that happenin'," Jack interrupted her.

She continued unperturbed, "I'll be releasin' ye the instant a British officer be in sight to run back to yer Pearl and piss off 'fore the whole King's Navy corners ye at bay."

"That's very sweet o' ye actually," Jack's eyes blinked owlishly, but a temperamental fire was hidden beneath his nonchalant attitude, "They'd hang me if they caught me ye know."

"I know," nudging Jack's chest with the pistol, she watched satisfied as he reluctantly stepped away and raised his hands casually in the air, "That's why I be grantin' ye a fightin' chance, seein' how ye were so gentlemanly with me own kidnappin', reckon I should be returnin' the favor and act the lady."

"Good plan, fine plan really," nodding Jack furrowed his brow in exaggerated contemplation, "save for two teeny weeny littl' problems, that is." Both sets of index fingers and thumbs mimed a small space between the two.

"What?" Maren snipped, glaring her wary suspicions.

"One," slurring, Jack produced a single digit pointed to the ceiling, "The pistol's not set to fire."

Her eyes widened in apprehension, debating on believing him or not, "Ye lyin'?"

"_Like he'd be admittin' it if he were!_"

"Think on it luv, would I carry a ready pistol in me trousers?" Jack grinned his question, "Now just pop the chamber in," Maren poked at the gun, "no, the thingy where the bullet goes," nodding when Maren touched the chamber, Jack demonstrated, "Right then, snap her in…the other way…no look at me," she obliged him, concentrating on his motions, "other side…think o' me as a mirror," a gratifying _click_ sounded, "Good, then cock her back," another metallic _clank_, "There ye are! All set!"

Insulted with her own lack of ingenuity, Maren puffed up and inquired, "And the other issue?" praying she appeared threatening.

"Two," Jack performed a great act of lowering his hands, "Maren ye no killer. Face it luv, I've more to fear from disgruntl'd old ladies comin' at me with their knittin' needles than I do from ye, no offense."

Kristy interceded, "_Pet, I reckon he's gone and hit the nail on the head._"

'Not helping!' she retorted to Kristy, to Jack she clenched her jaw and spoke very definitively, "Want to bet?" as she stressed her straight arm toward him, clenching the pistol in her fist with an assured finger manning the trigger.

"Always consider'd meself a bettin' man," swaggering, Jack gradually approached her, oblivious to the barrel aimed at the center of his chest, "so I'll call yer bluff." Maren felt as if she was watching the scene unfold from a distance, her body had become an immobile statue, incapable of shooting Jack for untold reasons that made her silent heart ache. He snaked closer, the metal ring of the barrel touching his bare chest, forcing Maren to bend her arm, allowing him room and still he crept closer. Completely ignoring the pistol as it caught on his shirt pulling the cloth aside, exposing one coppered nipple and dark round tattoo to Maren's heated vision. The tattoo was a crest with Latin inscription encircling it and a black orb in the middle, a pearl Maren realized. Foolish, though she felt, Maren couldn't stop the blush that colored her skin or the vulgar urge to lick that taut flesh.

Slowly and surprisingly gentle, Jack pressed tender lips to Maren's forehead and firmly removed the gun from her grasp. "Bad barmaid, that's a very bad barmaid!" he scolded playfully, shaking one finger in her face and making her cross-eyed then winked before promptly spinning on his heels and strutting to the dining table. "Best be off then," he rasped regretfully while he secured his sash about his waist and thrust his jacket back on, straightening the large cuffs. "'Less ye be willin' to finish what ye start'd?" optimistically he smiled and indicated the bed.

Maren, still dazed and frustrated with herself, shook her head.

"Supect'd as much," he exaggerated a woefully downtrodden expresseion, "Not nice to tease, luv, if I was less o' a pirate I might be demandin' that treasur'd maidenhead ye just offer'd, even if it was a ploy." When he noticed the panic written upon her face, Jack rapidly furthered, "But ye lucky, I be a better pirate than most o' the scum out there and the thought would never cross me mind…'cept late at night," he rambled innocently, "by me onesies…all cold and 'lone in me bed…dreamin' o' ye…'memberin' how ye suck'd chocolate off me fingers...aye that's 'bout the time I let me mind wander."

"_His balls must be bluer than Jack Frost's,_" Kristy pitied.

"So," Maren asked cautiously, patiently disregarding Jack's babble, "Ye not angry with me?"

"Angry?" seemingly incredulous, Jack retrieved his hat and swayed to the door, "Course not, perfectly natural ye tryin' to escape, wildcats like ye weren't meant for capture." Another thought struck him and Jack halted his exit to add dotingly, "Hell, flatter'd really. Dishonest though I am, I'd be lyin' if I did'n admit a tiny part o' me was'n entirely positive ye would'n be shootin' ole Jack, but now I know better. Ye must be very fond o' me indeed to not even attempt to maim me."

"Oh get off it," Maren snorted.

Cocking his head, Jack appraised her with a blank stare, clearly listening to an internal debate, "I'm goin' to have to lock ye in the brig, are'n I?"

"What?" she shouted.

"The brig," still thoughtful, he repeated, "We're here for two days at least and I aint have'n a security hazard on me ship with an English fort in spittin' distance. Sorry sweetheart, ye bunk in the brig, least 'til I return, savvy? Anamaria will fetch ye soon 'nough," flourishing a grand bow, then comfortably tucking the hat atop his head, Jack left quickly before Maren threw herself on the door.

"Please Jack! Not the bleedin' brig 'gain!" she pounded, stomach knotting as the ominous click signaled the door locking, "Let me OUT! Damn ye Sparrow!"

A muffled yell was her only answer, "And do'n go breakin' 'nother o' me windows o' I might make it seven days in the brig 'stead o' two!"

"Shove it where ye uncle did, ye lousy-street-mongrel-dog ye!" Maren's thudding on the door was making her fists numb, eventually forcing her to rest.

"_We givin' up yet?_"

'Fuck no!'

"_Suspect'd as much…so what now?_"

'Cap'n Sparrow seems to have forgotten just what I am!'

"_Ye thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?_"

Maren didn't answer, instead she closed her eyes and _sought_…


	10. Success of Sorts

_Chapter Ten: Success of Sorts_

Maren didn't answer, instead she closed her eyes and _sought_…

0000000

"I do'n care! Find 'nother bugger to baby-sit yer bitch-witch!" Anamaria shrieked indignantly, "For I'll not go near her, not for all the ink in India!"

"Anamaria," shining the diamond ring on his thumb, Jack held his hand out to admire its sparkle, "I not be havin' this argument 'gain, ain't no voodoo on this ship savvy?" Gibbs hustled by, baring some burden, and Jack added loudly, "That goes for ye too, ye daft sailor. Strip off that bloody garlic for Poseidon's sake, ye reek 'nough as it is."

"But Cap'n," griped Gibbs, tossing his crate alongside others, "It's nothin' on the lass, I _like_ Maren, like her lots, but them ghosts…'tis 'nother matter." The charm was removed remorsefully from around his neck, wafting a more pungent odor when it combined with the sweat from Gibbs' grimy hands, "Me grandmum always swore on garlic, strong smells be wardin' the dead away she said."

"Be wardin' the livin' away too," Jack crossed his arms, set in stone.

"If ye asks me-."

Jack interrupted Anamaria, matter-a-factly, "Which no one did."

"-I say," her glare threatened him as she continued resolutely, "the garlic be the only thing coverin' the smell o' pig. Let him keep it and spare our noses, would ye Jack?" An obvious sniff punctuated Anamaria's statement so Gibbs retaliated by sticking his grey tongue out at her.

"Bah, cut the shit, ye babies," Jack's hands located his flask, sparing no time popping the cap off and guzzling to his liver's content, his Adam's apple bobbing like a fishing lure. "Aaah!" lowering the gin, Jack pointed at the Gibbs' charm, "She's right though," Anamaria huffed pompously and Gibbs snorted insulted, "Wear yer sissy, superstitious, spinster charm and grant our nasal cavities a bit o' relief. Now have off," the flash disappeared in the security of his jacket pocket, "Anamaria needs some sense knock'd into her."

"Ye'll be knockin' 'til kingdom come," retorting, Gibbs dodged the sisterly swat aimed at his head before rushing below to carry the next crate. Thankfully, the aroma eventually traveled with him.

Mindlessly, Jack hummed his favorite song anchoring his scrupulous stare upon Anamaria, who glowered back. "Here be the green, me dove," his shoulders quirked up with his open palms, stuck in a permanent shrug, "That's a very pretty littl' lady-," he paused while Anamaria tsk-ed, "we got stash'd up here and pretty ladies attract a pretty fair amount of attention. Ye know what they say, 'While the cat's away,' so on and so forth and when this feline takes his leave, he be wantin' insurance that his mice be behavin' around said lady. Clearly, there be nothin' to fret 'bout with ye on guard. First, the men be scar'd o' ye," a prideful smile graced Anamaria's face, "Hell, keep beamin' like that and I be scar'd o' ye too. And lastly, I wo'n have to be worrin' 'bout ye takin' any sort o' liberties with her, bein' womens and all." A concise blink signified the arrival of a stimulating thought, "Course, if somethin' like that, ye know certain undeniable urgin' liberties, should occur 'tween the two o' ye, then, as honorable Cap'n, I would have to watch-er, witness…" mumbling, Jack snapped his fingers, "Referee! Aye referee, make sure everthin's evens, aye, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke and whatnot!" A fanciful glaze set over Jack's eyes and he sighed.

"Lord have mercy!" she whispered, aghast and devilishly amused, "Ye have'n had her yet, have ye Jack? I can tell, ye look half-starv'd to death, ye do!"

Startled, Jack nervously snipped, "Bah! What ye gabbin' 'bouts? Course I had her, dozens o' times, I did," his gloating became increasingly defensive, a fact not lost on Anamaria, "Many, many, many times! Actually, just finish'd 'nother one up a moment ago. Ye deaf? Ye not hear all that bangin' on me door? She beggin' for more, that be what that was."

"Funny," puckering her chin, she nonchalantly attached, "Soundin' to me like she just want'd out." Her calloused finger itched her cheek and she relented, "Suspectin, maybe I was a tad too harsh on her," Jack rubbed his hands together, satisfied, "Any gel clever 'nough to steer clear o' ye can't be all bad, witch o' no."

Jack's victory smile vanished, replaced by an irritated scowl, "Just do what ye told woman."

Anamaria watched Jack mosey to the longboat, his arms twined behind him like an eager sacrifice. She'd known Jack a long time now and all that while understood one thing for certain, Jack was never to be _known_ completely, remaining a mysterious enigma of a pirate to the end of his days. Yet, there was one definite trait that Jack exemplified over and over again, he was a man that _wanted_ things. Not in the sense a fellow might be strolling down the street and fancies "Mmm, like me a pair o' new shoes," no, Jack's _wants_ were of an entirely different meaning all together.

It was obsession and possession in its purest form, reminding Anamaria of childhood stories her bapu would tell her, great titans swallowing their god-children whole to control them forever. That's how Jack _wanted_ things, he stayed unchanged, always just Jack, but whatever he desired became _his_ totally. Jack _wanted_ his Black Pearl, well that was no secret. Jack _wanted_ his hat, that weather-beaten leather mass of wear and tear. Jack _wanted_ his revenge, _wanting_ his pistol to deliver the lethal blow. Jack _wanted_ Bootstrap's son to live happily ever after, now the boy was doing just that. And perhaps now, Jack _wanted_ the medium.

Not entirely in the sexual reference either. There had been only one person prior Jack had wanted and sure as hell, that was definitely not sexual in anyway shape or form. Yet, Jack _wanting_ the last surviving crewmember of the Alpha had almost ruined him. How much damage could a voodoo witch inflict?

Jack and others had climbed down into the longboat and were rowing to shore, disappearing into the fog, as if swallowed whole…Anamaria decided to fetch her gun, for security's sake, before moving the medium to the brig.

0000000

A physical body has boundaries, wrapped and trapped in a tissue of skin, but the soul is less discriminate and unfathomably more infinite. It is nowhere and everywhere at once, is it any wonder that so many souls meld and grow together, with such an immeasurable habitat? Those we love are never gone, apart of them is apart of us, a vital compound in the make of who and why we are. These ties are embedded permanently in the spirit, always connecting the living to the departed. All it takes is one who _sees_…

Maren saw several of these influences enfolded in Anamaia, but one was prominent. So many doubting thoughts cast around the memory of _him_, mingled with dauntless faith and cherished love, Maren wondered briefly if perhaps she was delving into the wrong person, but no, this was the vicious pirate woman, hiding a plethora of pain and hope inside herself. She opened her bleary eyes, deciding that _he_ would work.

'No wonder she be so cranky,' Maren hastily put her stockings and boots on and was almost finished plating her hair again when Kristy burst in.

"_She's coming!_" the ghost huffed, "_Ye got someone?_"

'Aye, a good one too,' frantically, Maren searched around Jack's chests and cabinets until she found a lean crowbar. Testing, she whipped it about, listening to the swoosh it cut in the air. 'Ye got me an escape route?' hiding, the iron piece behind her skirt, Maren hustled to a dining chair and perched, attempting to look mystical.

Kristy stuck her head through the locked door, ignoring the disconcerting chill solid objects gave her, to check on Anamaria's progress, "_Bet ye arse,_" she noted the pistol Anamaria carried, but kept it to herself, it would only make Maren nervous. "_Here be the skivvy,_" her head bobbed inside again, "_Two longboats been lowered to the water, one on port, one on starboard. Now God bless'd us, 'cause some bugger's got the coffee out and everyone's havin' themselves a brake by the starboard. Port's boat by itself, ye got that? On me word, head for port and do'n look back o' think twice!_"

'Aye aye Kristy,' Maren said with more confidence then her knotted stomach actually felt, 'Now, let's be payin' this Charlie bloke a visit…"

0000000

Anamaria hesitated for a chilling moment before unlocking the captain's quarters, reassuring herself that she wasn't afraid, for Christ's sake, she'd fought an entire crew of the dead without a blink of an eye, she was just wary, very, very wary, that was all. Resolutely she turned the key and stepped inside, eyes swiftly readjusting to the dim. Maren sat quietly, hands hanging limply at her sides and face as blank as a sheet of paper, gazing at the wall, through the wall.

"None o' them tricks," charily, Anamaria walked in and shut the door behind her, "Time to go, get movin' now!" Swiveling like a weathervane, Maren's head turned towards Anamaria, her blank eyes were glassy and the pupils dilated, virtually nonexistent. The effect was blood chillingly frightening.

"His reputation preced'd him. At first, ye have naught to do with him, but the likes of him win everyone over eventually," her voice echoed emotionlessly in the room which seemed eerily larger and emptier to Anamaria.

"Who the fuck ye goin' on 'bouts, eh?" growling, Anamaria shivered angrily, fearing she knew very well who, but praying it was impossible.

"Charles Dumaus," a whimper sounded and Anamaria barely recognized it as her own, "But he insist'd ye call him 'yer Charlie'. Told ye he lov'd ye an hour after meetin' ye and every time after 'till one day ye found yerself believin' him. He be yer first, made luv to ye under the oak tree, then ask'd ye to marry him." Two crystal tears fell from one of Maren's blank eyes, yet a beautiful smile spread across her lips, "Ye said aye! Couldn't believe it, thought he was dreamin', ye so prideful, so strong, weepin' in his arms, his future bride. So beautiful, he sang to ye, his mumma's lullabye, the only other woman he ever lov'd, _Du, du emandue…_" gradually, the singing was no longer that of Maren, but a brassy tenor, lulling his notes from a vast distance.

Her pistol fell to the ground in an inappropriate clatter, surging forward and falling onto her knees, Anamaria clasped at Maren's olive skirts, ignoring the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "Me Charlie," cracking in a sob, she buried her head in Maren's lap, "How can this be?" Adoringly she gawked at Charlie, speaking through a pretty barmaid, "What happen'd? I was waitin', where were-," she couldn't distinguish the crowbar Maren raised, even when it descended on the back of her head with a skull-thumping thwack. Her body dropped, unresisting to the floor, blown out like a candle's flame.

Blinking away the familiar haze, Maren granted herself a few moments of recuperation and let go of her hold on the crowbar. Mournfully, she assessed the crumpled form of the female pirate, face streaked with tear trails, before decisively and sadly declaring, 'I feel like such a bitch!'

"_Me too,_" Kristy reappeared, poking her wraith foot at Anamaria's listless body, "_How bloody miserable, poor thing!_" Just then, the poor thing moaned and furrowed her brow, but failed to awaken, "_Eek!_" Kristy shrieked, "_Remorse later, escape now! Remorse later, escape now!_"

Not needing to be commanded twice, Maren bolted to the door, Kristy floating ahead of her. Impatiently, she paused, withering her fingers, occasionally cracking a knuckle, while Kristy phased through the door and watched for a clearing. 'Hurry,' Maren pitifully pleaded, 'if she wakes up and I still be here, she'll kill me for sure!'

"_Hold it Pet…hold it…_" more intimidating seconds passed, "_Now! Go, move!_"

Flinging the door open, Maren dashed towards the port rail, not even taking the precious time to glance about, if Kristy said it was clear, it was clear. The rope ladder hung ahead of her, a spectacular and desperate destination. She was upon it instantly, temporarily forgetting her loathing of heights, grabbing the top rung with white knuckles and casting her weight over the railing.

Like a kite, the wind caught her skirt while she hung, threatening to blow her away, but her death grip refused to budge and eventually, after a few fumbled attempts, Maren's feet found purchase on the ladder. Not daring to look down, even to estimate her decent, she scrabbled and groped her way to the longboat, occasionally sliding with painful burns to her palms. Her heart hammered and her stomach resided in her throat as every second passed, only assuring her of her inevitable recapture. Sweaty hands caused her to slip and she would have screamed had the boat not abruptly knocked the wind from her. She had only fallen five feet.

Panting and praying her thanks, Maren attacked the ropes that held the longboat to the Black Pearl. "_Hurry!_" panicked, Kristy bit her wraith wrist to silence her nervous shouts. The knots were stubborn, but then, so was Maren. Clambering with fingers turned wobbly like rubber, she finally loosened the rope and freed the boat.

The oars were in her hands and lapping at ocean water in an instant while her numb arms and entire body thrust into ever stroke. Her breath was forced to slow, in with one row, out with the other and this helped to calm her down, concentrating fully on the physical activity. "_Good Pet, ye're doin' great,_" Kristy sighed, letting relief spill over the both of them, "_Hard part be over, soon we be hidden in the fog._" The morning was still chilled, turning Maren's anxious sweat clammy and cold. Almost hypnotic, the steady splashing of the oars soothed her tattered nerves, the waves rocking her as a mother rocks her baby, but nothing came close to the serenity that overwhelmed her as the Black Pearl faded from sight, lost in mist. Cautious optimism soared to heavenly heights and Maren and Kristy exchanged happy smiles.

It was over! No more pirates, no more Pearl, and no more Jack Sparrow…the persistent sentiment, she vainly wished had burned away in her anger, flared back tenfold. She permitted herself to confess her darkest secret, now that her heart was safe and far away from Jack forever…she was falling in love with him…there she admitted it! Really, what choice did she have? Played with like a porcelain doll by the world's most manipulative puppeteer or cut her losses and spare herself even more sorrow. Why of course she had to run away! At least she could honestly declare the truth now, she was leaving because she was scared of him, of loving him. If Jack ever discovered her feelings, God alone knew the mischief he would make of them! Insensitive bastard that he was…also attentive, generous and handsome-no! Maren couldn't think that way, someday she'd remember this as merely an infatuation, she'd scar over it soon enough, she hoped. 'Aye right,' Maren mused sarcastically, because there is a certain limit to how much a woman can lie to herself.

A terrible scratching sound halted the boat, surprising both Maren and Kristy. They spun about foolishly realizing they had hit shore. 'Freedom at last!' Maren jumped from boat to land, rocking unsteadily as her legs reacquainted themselves with a fixed surface.

"_Let's be locatin' ourselves a fine-lookin' young Brit officer,_" Kristy cheered and clapped, "_Reckon ye'll be some kind o' hero o' somethin' for soundin' the alarm, even if they can't possibly catch the Pearl, faster than a boy's orgasm, she is._"

'Supposin' they give me a metal, eh?' attempting to mask her growing melancholy, Maren bit out merrily, 'Bet I'll be havin' the pick o' the gents then. Wouldn't that be somethin'?' They strode confidently down the shore. Muffled and disheartening familiar voices floated on the wind, very close by, startling the pair.

'The other boat!'

"_The other boat!_" they conversed in alarmed unison.

Speedily, Maren threw herself headlong behind a deformed gray boulder, hunched and waiting nervously. Kristy remained where she was, though she had to fight the instinct to flee from sight. The fog thinned a bit, or her ghostly vision readjusted to the mist, either way she now beheld the first longboat pulled partly on shore and three men, Gibbs among them, sharing a smoke. Two other men were missing, also Jack, this didn't bode well. Jack's favorite hobby was suddenly appearing at the most inconvenient moment.

'Kristy!' Maren called from the rock.

"_Ye be all right at the moment, Pet,_" Kristy hushed back, "_They did'n see ye. When I gives ye the go, crawl slow and quiet-like up in the brush, head the other direction._"

'Right,' gulping, Maren tried to mask her breathing, now sounding horrifically loud to her straining ears. The sand gave a little under her feet causing her to bob for footing. Her mouth was dry, and her palms were wet, and she vehemently cursed Jack Sparrow wherever the hell he was, in spite of the fact she now loved him.

"_All set luv,_" steadfast, Kristy kept careful watch for any change in the pirates' demeanor, "_Get goin'!_" Uncomfortably low on her haunches, Maren inched her way stealthily into the foliage and away from the water, her dress hefted up and wrapped around one arm, mindless to her bloomers flashing the world. Often, a snapping twig or crunching gravel would sound under her boots and Maren would freeze, terrified and waiting for the pirates to come and investigate, but only Kristy's reassuring, "_Keep at it, ye stupid gel, aint no time to be admirin' the bloomin' view!_" would follow. Creeping along, Maren succeeded in concealing herself behind the brush.

'Praise King Jesus,' under Maren's feet was a small dirt road and roads always lead to people, civilization at last! Straightening out, Maren tiptoed quickly down the trail, hearing only Kristy's approach behind her. 'Almost there-."

A deceptively innocent bend on the path brought Maren abruptly upon Cupid Thomas urinating on a tree. At first, he only glanced up at her casually, returning his thoughtful gaze back to the falling stream from his trousers, but as realization dawned, he yanked his head back up and gaped at her, "Maren! What the devil!" he, embarrassed, tucked away his manhood and hurriedly tied his trousers up.

"_By the milk from me own mum's tit!_" hysterical, Kristy guffawed, "_Ye see that littl' thing he stowed away there? How pathetic! Talk 'bout ye bug-fucker!_" She demonstrated by producing her pinkie cut off at the last knuckle.

"Hello Cupid," Maren smiled vacantly, waving worried arms about and performing an amazing likeness to Jack, "Figur'd I be takin' a look 'round, ye know, see the sights, eat some local food, talk to the natives and whatnot. Stretch o' me legs type o' deal, savvy? Anyway, nice chattin' with ye, but regrettably, I gots some previous social engagements, can't be chang'd, so sorry, well off I go. Bye!" and sprinting like the Devil himself was after her, Maren ran.

Pounding feet struck the road, her skirts fluttering behind her, as Maren exploded in a tizzy of adrenaline. She'd never been the swiftest, her particular forte being constant endurance rather than bursts of frantic energy, but at this moment, she could overcome a racing horse if need be. Behind her, the crash and stomp of boots revealed that Cupid had decided to give chase after all. "_Shoot me load, Maren!_" Kristy snarled, flying through brush and trees to keep up, "_This goes far beyond the realm o' unlucky and straight into curs'd karma! What be the deal, eh? Ye piss on a monk in a former life!_"

'Not helping!' desperately, Maren gulped great breathes of air into her aching lungs. Rowing the longboat had exhausted her arms, they tingled with a numbness that hinted at cramps arriving very soon. Her legs rebuffed the pace she attempted to force upon them and were, consequently, growing lethargic, she was slowing! Cupid's footfalls were steadily gaining, but Maren declined the temptation to check behind her, fearing the mere sight of Thomas upon her would freeze her like a hunted dear.

"_House ahead!_" pointing, Kristy indicated a large estate emerging from the fog. The windows were still dark and no noise could be heard from any inhabitant, but beggars can't be choosers.

Soaring over the picket fence in a mighty hurtle, a feat Maren would have sworn she was not capable of executing the day before, now made exceedingly easy in her panicked state, she skidded to a halt at the front door, double in the French style. "Hello!" she bombarded the doors with her fists, "Is anyone one there! For mercy's sake help-."

"_Maren, look OUT!_" Kristy screeched as Cupid rounded the fence and descended upon Maren. Lunging, he secured a fistful of the back of her skirt with one hand, but Maren was already fleeing and the sharp tug to her dress pulled him forward, falling flat on the ground. The rip was horrendously awful to Maren's ears as a large piece of her only satin dress tore away, however, mourning the garment would have to be postponed for a more convenient occasion.

Cupid's slip had bought Maren a few more precious seconds, but her time was running out and quickly. She came upon deserted streets and her feelings conflicted, joy that she had reached the town of Port Royale or misery that the morning was still too early for the citizens to wake, 'Kristy, I need an English soldier now!' She didn't dare take one valuable moment knocking on any doors for Cupid was increasing his speed and edging closer. Her panting breath didn't even allow enough air to shout for help. Things were becoming dire.

"_On me way,_" the spirit darted through the nearest house and continued her hastening progress. Scenes of bedrooms, kitchens, and living rooms flashed before her eyes as she sprinted parallel with Maren on the street, all of them bleakly quiet with sleep or dismally empty. Just when all hope seemed defeated, Kristy came upon a shop…

Maren would have screamed in shock when Kristy burst out from a wall right in front of her face, but her lungs were too breathless to even manage a small squeak. "_Found someone, in there!_" her arm indicated the building she had just emerged from and without hesitation, Maren flew to the rickety door.

'An officer?' she asked hopefully, knocking the door open with a surprising clatter.

"_Even better!_" they bolted in together.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark of a workman's room, drafty yet warm. Anvils, tools, and a donkey lied about with a roaring fire stoking higher in the corner. 'Kristy,' Maren addressed doubtfully and deadened, 'This be a smithery.'

"_Aye, but wait 'til ye see the blacksmith!_"


	11. The Turners

_Chapter Eleven: The Turners_

"_Aye, but wait 'til ye see the blacksmith!_"

"May I help you, miss?" suddenly a clipped and soothing voice startled Maren into spinning around…and her heart caught in her throat. A beautiful, young man with brown wavy locks tied back with string, tendrils whisking out and framing his angelic face, expressive eyes below a handsome brow, and all together the most heavenly sight Maren had ever seen, stepped forward, concerned and confused.

"Help me!" she finally choked out, shaky from fatigue, she attempted to approach him and troubled she might faint, he started forward as well, "I've been kidnapp'd! Please-!"

A terrible crack sounded as Cupid exploded through the door, his fuming eyes only noticing Maren and sweat pouring down his face, "Come here ye!" he reached for her with one flexing arm, but was immediately stopped by a calloused hand gripping his wrist tightly.

"The lady stays here," quiet with subtle intimidation, Maren's strange new hero jerked Cupid's arm away, "Understand, friend?" There was something about the way he said 'friend' that made it not at all friendly.

Cupid clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, fingers cracking as he flexed them into a fist. "Stay out o' this, friend," he spat with equally unsociable denotations, "This do'n concern ye." With that, Cupid Thomas swung his right fist, followed sequentially by a left-handed punch, hefting his weight behind it like a spring.

William Turner II barely batted an eyelid. He deftly tilted his head away from the first assault and nimbly grasped the second fist, twisting it painfully and using its own momentum to turn it about. The crack rang loudly, only covered by Cupid's hurting yelp and growl. But luckily, Cupid's pain didn't last long, because Will's concise and tuned punch struck his chin, spinning him about like a twisted human top, before his body fell stiffly to the floor. Dispassionately, Will prodded the pirate in his side to roll him onto his back and speak down to him, "Now it concerns me."

"_Wow, one punch!_" Kristy gasped, "_Marry him, Maren, soon as possible!_"

"Ye…ye sav'd me," stunned Maren beheld her knight in shining armor with stars in her eyes. All her girlish dreams, every romantic fantasy that had ever jaded her to the cruel realities of the world, bloomed in her memory, sweet and ripe. This blacksmith was the material her dreams were made of, "Thank ye, thank ye so much!"

"My pleasure miss," laying a kind hand upon her shoulder, Will peered gently at her face, "Are you hurt? Did he…do anything?"

"Well he ripp'd me dress," Maren said lamely, turning about so Will could witness the crime against fashion, her satin ruined and petticoats peeping out.

Inexplicably, Will's face darkened gravely and his fist clenched at his side, "He will pay for this, I swear it."

"For…me dress?" Maren was confused now.

"For," stuttering, Will fluttered his hands about Maren suggestively, "for attempting to compromise…er."

"_Ye daft twat, he thinks Cupid tried to tup ye._"

Comprehension lit her shining face, "Oh! Oh…no, no, nothin' like that."

"Oh good," Will sighed a shaky relief, "Good, that's good, I just deduced that a rogue in pursuit of a pretty lass would-never mind." Charmingly shy, he changed the subject, "Why was he after you then?"

"I be escapin' from the ship, he came after me."

"Ship?" furrowing his brow, Will asked sharply, "Which ship?"

"A pirate ship, sir!" Maren meekly tugged on his sleeve, gesturing through the wall to the bay, "Hidden in a cave, the Black Pearl!"

"What?" stunned, Will pinched the bridge of his nose, "Oh no, is that man there," he nodded his head towards Cupid Thomas, "a member of her crew?"

"Aye sir," mistaking the grunt of frustration Will made as distress, Maren hastened to comfort, "But they not be here to pick a fight. Ifen we hurry and sound the alarm, they'll be off, I'm certain." Maren paused, staring at Will transfixed, intently examining his fair features, handsome and trustworthy, "I be havin' the most amazin' feelin', like I know ye. Have we met before?"

"_Bah, bullshit,_" exasperated, Kristy spat, the ghost spit evaporating before it hit the ground, "_That line be older than me death! Ye can manage better then that, Pet, try faintin' in his arms_!"

"I do not think so," Will answered, distracted.

Persistently, Maren quipped, "Then if it be not fate, may I inquire as to yer name, kind sir?"

"Will Turner," he said, rubbing the back of his damp neck, never taking his agitated gaze off the unconscious pirate.

"Mister Turner," mulling over his name like it was spun gold, Maren gathered every ounce of courage she'd ever possessed, "may I kiss ye?"

"Ay-what!" his attention spun back to Maren, who was blushing pleasantly and wringing her small hands together, inching nearer to him.

"Please do'n be thinkin' me forward o' indecent," she pleaded, "But here be the part where the damsel in distress grants her hero a favor."

"Er, um…I-ye see-," faltering, Will paled.

"Can't on account o' his bonnie littl' wife, ye tart," Jack interrupted from the doorway, reclining with arms and ankles crossed, hip and knee cocked.

"Oh, yer married," Maren grieved softly, watching sadly as Will shrugged producing his ringed finger for her inspection. "I'm…so sorry," her shaking hand raised to her cheek, hoping to hide her mortification, "No insult was intend'd-JACK!" only now comprehending the smirking pirate captain, Maren twirled to the door and gaped as he tipped his hat to her. "Son o' a bitch! How'd ye find me!" she shouted.

Swaggering forward, Jack clasped his palms together in an exaggerated prayer and lifted his arms heavenward, "Providence is kind, luv," batting his eyes innocently, "to bring me here, thus in time." He came upon the limp body of Cupid and callously kicked his offending hand from his path, "Yer work?" he asked Will.

"Aye," defiantly, Will laid his hand upon the hilt of his sheathed sword.

The movement didn't escape Jack's attention, "Might have to teach ye a lesson 'bout interferin' with others' business," Jack menacingly drew his own sword, "Especially, if it be pirate business, whelp."

"You have leave to try, knave," the swish of Will's sword hissed like a snake as it slipped from its sheath.

"No Mister Turner!" desperately seizing Will's forearm, Maren attempted to pull him away. Both men looked quite shocked as though they had completely forgotten her presence, "He's the Captain Jack Sparrow, please do'n fight him! He'll kill ye!"

Jack erupted in giddy laughter, "Aye boy, best be listenin' to the wench, she gives good advice." Still smiling insanely, Jack tossed his hat aside and switched hold on his sword to remove his coat.

"I am not so easily defeated, my lady," Will compassionately, yet decisively, removed Maren's hands from his arm, "Please stand back." Entranced, Maren obliged him, shuffling back a few feet.

Jack and Will studied each other tensely in silence, both unblinkingly, both menacing. Suddenly, Jack leapt at his opponent and the duel exploded! Parries, blocks, thrusts, dodges, flourishes, stabs, jabs, and struts spilled over one another, choreographing an intimate dance of steel and sweat. Squealing, Maren clenched her hands over her appalled mouth, stifling screams of excitement. They were fighting for her! How romantic! Well, she did reluctantly concede that Will probably was dueling for honor's sake and Jack for…well Jack, because he was a horse's arse. But a woman could pretend couldn't she? Slipping, Will barely missed the assault Jack had aimed at his head and Maren cried out, "Be careful Mister Turner!"

"Careful Mister _Turner_?" Jack ground out quietly to Will as the young men trapped him against a table, barely holding his blade at bay from his nose, "What happen'd to 'be careful, Jack'?" Mustering the strength to expel the fiery youth, Jack eluded the next attack by sliding under the table, back to gravely floor.

"Jealous?" gloating, Will jumped atop his worktable crouching down to cross intricate blades with the horizontal pirate. Agile and clever, Jack kicked at Will's foot and rolled away swiftly as he fell down, but the whelp retained his control, springing into a graceful summersault and hurdling to his feet. Likewise, Jack bounded from lying to standing in one practiced move. "Did you really kidnap her?" Will panted, forcing the pirate backwards as he pressed his offense.

"Do'n be fool'd boy," spinning dizzily around the donkey's pulley, Jack almost caught Will in the back, but the young man wisely retreated a few steps, "She lov'd every second of it!"

The orchestra of clanks and clinks continued while Maren and Kristy took audience. "_He be amazin'!_" Kristy cheered, clapping for more.

'He be a god!' biting her knuckle, Maren communicated silently with the ghost.

"_Which one?_" pressed Kristy.

Maren dismissed vaguely, 'Whichever.'

"_Know what ye mean,_" sighing lustfully, Kristy watched, hypnotized as muscles flexed and legs bent, as hair twirled and mouths gasped, as damp skin came so deliciously close to touching the rival's own wet flesh. She shivered, permitting erotic scenarios to play in her mind, naughty pirate and wanton blacksmith casting their weapons aside to duel with nimble tongues in passionate kisses, expelling hot, chafing clothes, dominate wrestling topped with demanding caresses as they fought for supremacy in love-making. "_Hee hee hee,_" Kristy giggled wickedly, then consciously noticed Maren's disapproving gaze staring through her, "_What?_" she huffed defensively.

'Ye pervert,' snorting, Maren set her fists on her hips, 'Do'n 'what' me, I know what ye were thinkin'. Can tell by that randy gleam in ye eye!'

"_What I was 'thinkin',_" Kristy cut deliberately, "_Was why, by the bishop's white prick, are ye not helpin' Mister Turner, stead of standin' there like an imbecile?_"

Futilely, Maren opened and closed her mouth, searching for a witty and viable retort, "I…well-mmm…was just gettin' to that part," she finished weakly, before sprinting away, scattering about for a weapon.

"I should hope so!" calling out at her, Kristy returned to her anxious scrutiny and shameless fantasizing of the energetic couple, so masculine and mesmerizing in their swordplay.

"Surrender, scum," Will lunged dangerously close to Jack's sword, "And I might take pity on you." He grinned, smartly, all the while.

"The only pity that be afford'd today," breaking contact, Jack returned to his fighter's stance, keeping the blacksmith at distance, "is to be given to yer wife, o' should I say 'widow'!" Jack slashed his blade upward, renewing his attack with viscous vigor, when Maren approached from behind. He barely had a moment to glance back at the sound of her scuffling footsteps, before a wooden plank was walloped violently against his skull, his beads comically clanking together at impact.

"Miss me Cap'n?" she said with mock-politeness as he slipped, blinking and perplexed to the floor, where his head thudded painfully loud upon the ground and his sword was swept away from him with her foot.

"Ouch…" was all he replied, lying spread-eagle and eyes crossing in a fruitless attempt to focus his sights on Maren who loomed ominously over him, her plank lofted like a Bible in her right hand. "Ouch," he mumbled again for good measure.

"I believe," Will interjected, the point of his sword resting at Jack's throat, causing Maren to stifle a distressed cry, "victory is mine. Do you yield?"

Reluctantly, Jack raised himself up on his elbows, groaning at the throbbing in his head. His eyes glared down at the weapon at his neck, "Ye cheat'd," he halfheartedly accused.

"I did not cheat," clarifying, Will indicated Maren, "The young lady did." Proudly, Maren puffed out her chest, an appreciable sight that both men fondly observed. Will repeated definitively, "Do you yield?"

Jack deliberately calculated the tip of the blade, then Will, back to the blade, and finally Maren who sniffed hotly, "Aye, ye win," stubbornly, he relented and the sword was abruptly withdrawn, "Where that put the score at, mate? Three to two, right?"

"Nay, my numerically challenged friend," Will extended a hand to aide Jack up, "It's three to three."

"Like hell!" grunting, Jack braced himself on Will's arm as a lever to stand upon his two stiff feet, "No way an amateur pup like ye is evens with Cap'n Jack Sparrow." Sucking in a bitter breath, Jack tentatively touched the back of his head and examined his fingers, checking for blood, "Bugger, that smarts!"

"Ask Elizabeth, she is keeping count," Will toed Jack's sword, punting it up in the air where he skillfully caught it. Benevolently, he procured it to Jack who snatched it back grumpily, "Three to three."

Begrudgingly, Jack conceded, "All right, three to three," he sheathed his sword and added smugly, "but do'n be makin' yerself comfortable bein' on the same par with me lad, next match be mine, for sure." They laughed together and embraced in the odd male fashion, clasping each other's right hand to their chests and leaning their shoulders together before heartily patting the other's back, the masculine hug. Kristy almost drooled in delight at the prospect of physical contact between the two raging stallions.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," Maren boomed, sarcasm dripping, "But what, by Mother Mary's sweet virtue, is bleedin' happenin' here? Ye _know_ each other!" her shouting increasing in volume and severity.

"Aye, old friends, sav'd his life, sav'd his gel's life, she burn'd me rum, long story," preoccupied, Jack was dressing in his jacket and hat, Will was scooting furniture back into place after the foray. "Out o' curiosity, me dear," Jack shrugged at Maren, "Where ye think I be acquirin' a few dozen swords from, the bakery perhaps?"

The obvious crashing mercilessly upon her, Maren slapped her forehead and mumbled, "A blacksmith."

"Aye, from the blacksmith," nodding, Jack's lopsided grin taunted her stupidity.

"_Guess we should have thought o' that, huh?_" Kristy regretted.

"I don't believe I ever caught your name, miss?" cutting in, Will offered his hand politely.

She replied suspiciously, "Maren Attle," moodily shaking his hand, suppressing that shiver of familiarity that the young man stirred in a memory not entirely hers.

"Well Miss Attle-," but Jack interrupted Will.

"Do'n be rubbin' elbows with the likes o' her, whelp," annoyed, Jack stood barring the two and cocking a thumb at her, "She's in 'nough trouble as it is. This be her second escape attempt and it's not even eight o'clock yet! She has, and this is only this mornin's transgressions mind, aimed a revolver at me head, tried to kidnap me, wind'd me up and left me wantin', if ye guess me meaning," Maren hid her face in her hands, the blush signifying her embarrassment while Jack continued numbering the offenses off on his dirty fingers, "Lord spare us for whatever she did to Anamaria, evidently she also stolen one o' me longboats 'cause she aint wet, got Thomas there in a heap o' mess, bonked me head somethin' awful, cost me a duel and me leadin' score, and threw herself at a married bloke like some cheap strumpet."

Will was taken aback and Kristy screamed in outrage, "_Yer mumma was a donkey-cocksucking cunt o' a slut, may she burn in the bowels o' Lucifer's shit-hole, ye sister-lickin' bastard he-whore!_" she inhaled grotesquely for show, clearly breathing not being a necessity. She thought a moment and further conceited, "_That was one o' me better ones, what ye think Pet?_"

Maren did not reply, could not reply. Temper was tremoring through her body like lava in a volcano ready for rupture. How dare he! Who did Sparrow think he was? Strumpet! How on God's green Earth did she ever even fathom falling in love with this man? This thoughtless, crass, and black-hearted scoundrel. To presume to judge her, when his own sexual exploits with harlots were as infamous as his notorious adventures. The nerve of that filthy, flippant, and fornicating fiend. God, she hated him! That wicked, manipulative, and deceptive devil…God, she loved him still! There was no denying it, why not defy the blue sky or rising sun? And that was the final nail in the cross, her own helplessness to ward him off. She was a vulnerable kitten taunted by a sprightly sparrow, some wildcat she turned out to be. All because of some sadistic affection that gripped her pulsing heart in a vice! It was true what the poets wrote, love was a curse.

"William Joseph Turner!" a scathing holler trumpeted on the other side of the shop door. Immediately both men jumped sheepishly as a beautiful young woman strode into the smithery. "You left without eating breakfast again, didn't-why is there a cataleptic gentleman on the floor?" she stopped short, indicating the unconscious Cupid and then comprehension dawned, "Jack!" cheering, she answered her own question.

An unbearable bout of déjà vu clouded Maren's senses. The newcomer had dusty blonde hair, slightly darker then her own. She was a good deal taller and leaner with angled and sculpted bone structure, clearly the result of centuries of good breeding. Her eyes were perfectly brown, her skin aristocratically pale, and so very familiar.

It was a compulsive accident, actually. Just like any innocent person would reflexively catch an object flying at their head, Maren involuntarily called out to remember…and received an overpowering answer, she closed her eyes.

_The cave…damp and dark, glimmering with shining gold piled like sand. There was Jack, so much frustration, why couldn't he just die? A twisted desire to murder overwhelmed her, she loathed him, she hated him, she wanted to hurt him, hurt him so badly. But she couldn't, why not? She clung desperately to that confusion, somehow sensing that it might lead her away from this strange place, but the hatred consumed her again, dragging her back down to the cave of treasure, to Jack, to the boy…Will Turner…and to the girl…Elizabeth Swann…kill her! Shoot her, kill her, make them suffer! Aye, yes, now he'll feel the pain, her pain, his pain all for my pleasure…shoot her, kill her, end it! She aimed her pistol…_

"_Maren?_" Kristy's stomach knotted, "_Maren!_"

"Me Elizabeth!" Jack whined boyishly, arms spread wide and they threw welcoming hugs about each other. Giggling with glee, Elizabeth held tightly around Jack's neck while he playfully picked her up to spin her around, "Miss'd ye so much." He pecked a kiss atop her head, then on her forehead, next along her cheek, and attempted a more intimate and less than prudent kiss upon her rose lips, but she craned her head away and socked him warningly on the shoulder, "Sorry, sorry, couldn't help meself," he shrugged with lip pouting to Will, "Ca'n blame a bloke for tryin'."

"Aye and can't blame a husband for running said bloke through," muttered Will.

"Gentleman," pointedly, Elizabeth looked at Maren, eyes shut and standing immobile, "I believe introductions are in order," she coaxed further.

"Oh, of course," repairing his discourteous manners, Will took Elizabeth's dainty hand and escorted her towards the oddly statuesque Maren. "Elizabeth, this is Miss Maren Attle," he gestured, but her unresponsive demeanor was disconcerting. Noticeably clearing his throat, he tried again, "And Miss Attle, this is my wife Missus Turner." Her smile gleaming, Elizabeth proffered her lace-gloved hand.

Maren did not react.

An awkward silence stretched until Jack blatantly bit out his arrogant opinion, "Do'n mind her, sweetheart, she just be pissy on account o' the serious amount o' trouble she's in by me. I swears, ye be lucky if I ever release ye from the brig!" he baited Maren, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with her catatonic state. This wasn't like Maren to passively avoid a fight, in fact, only once in the brief time that he'd known her, did she ever stay quiet this long…"Oh bugger," he whispered, dread sweeping into him and stepped forward.

Elizabeth cried out in surprise when Maren's hand struck her wrist, fingers tightening painfully in a squeezing grasp. Maren's eyes sprang open like the gallows' trapdoor, empty glass orbs subjecting Elizabeth to a blind, blue stare, "How dare a snip o' a bitch claim Parley."

"What?" she begged confused and unnaturally frightened, though she could not precisely name why. After all, hadn't she defended herself against an entire crew of the undead? Why should some madwoman with a strong hold and strange eyes scare her?

"Maren? Maren, answer me," touching her face tenderly, Jack attempted to force her gaze upon him, but the medium would not budge. Will, alarmed to see the always composed Jack Sparrow in distress, came to his wife's side, laying an unsure hand on the arm Maren clutched.

All this was inconsequential to Maren, she was far away, "That be what he thought when he first set eyes on ye, this snob cunny boardin' his ship, demandin' things! Ha! But he was bound to the code and he suspect'd he be needin' yer blood to top it off."

"Maren, stop this Maren," Jack suppressed the anxiety in his smoky voice with a pseudo blasé merriment. Tapping her cheek gently at first, his hand began smacking firmer, clapping smartly as no acknowledgement was offered, not a blink, not a grimace. "Kristy?" Jack commanded to thin air, "Can ye help her?" He readdressed Maren, grinning urgently, "Ye have to tell Jack what be happenin' here, luv, I do'n understand. I do'n know how to help ye. How do I stop this? Just talk to me, what do I got to do? Can ye hear me, lass? Ye there, Maren…blink once for 'aye', twice means 'nay'."

"Jack," Will spoke evenly, eyes shooting between Maren and the pirate, "If this is some sort of joke-."

The blacksmith's mouth clapped shut when Maren's unwavering stare fell heavy upon him, "It was ye blood all 'long, he was extremely," and her unemotional tone drew out this word, extenuating a meaning tenfold more drastic, "upset to find the wench had lied. And very disappoint'd that he was forced to release her to negotiate yer surrender." The medium's head pivoted back to Elizabeth, "He was hopin' to observe his crew takin' turns at ye, or should I say 'in' ye? Then delightin' in servin' himself a fine piece o' yer pie, slittin' yer bitch throat at the precise moment he comes!"

Horrified, Elizabeth gasped and Will yanked her away so roughly that Maren left red scratches in the lady's white arm.

She persisted, oblivious to any change in the atmosphere and rotated on Will who gawked at her, shoving his wife protectively behind him, "But nay, ye had to play the hero and spoil it all! He had the same tuppin' plans for ye, ye know, but he did intend to keep ye 'round for a bit longer," finally, Maren's face twitched, but not in any movement Jack had been hoping for, in a lewd wink that fired ice into Will's blood, "What a scrumptious littl' tart Bootstrap's boy turn'd out to be, delicious like his pop. What fun he was goin' to have with ye whelp!"

Rapidly, Maren's mood began to shift, her eyes, though remaining blank, squinted in a glare and she bared her teeth in a feral snarl, "But things did'n work out that way, did they? Ye!" Maren shouted, beholding Jack, a step away and face carefully guarded. "Why could'n ye stay dead? Ye ruin'd everthin'! Ye ruin'd it! Damn ye Sparrow!" attacking her ears, Maren clasped her hands to her head and mercilessly dug her nails into her scalp, a sign she was fighting back, vainly attempting to drown out the presence in her mind, "Ye ruin'd IT! God DAMN YE Sparrow! Ye ruin'd IT! RUIN'D IT ALL!"

Then suddenly, Maren's features cleared and she closed her eyes, silent.

"I," Jack warily edged closer to her, "I think it's over."

Maren's eyes flew open, no longer dark blue, the color of Jack's beloved ocean, but sharp blue ice on jaundiced yellow. Volatile, _he_ smiled at Jack, "Nice bit o' skirt ye gots here Jack," and the voice wasn't her lovely crystal ring, it cracked crisply in menace, deep and gritty, _his_ voice as clear as day…and then was gone as Maren eyes snapped shut again.

Elizabeth covered her mouth, stifling piercing scream and Will, so shocked, unsheathed his sword, inching them both away. Jack stood his ground, cocking his head curiously, beads clicking. Some annoyingly sensible part of him, probably good buddies with his obnoxious conscious, reminded him he should be frightened too, after all, his arch-nemesis from beyond the grave was commentating upon his latest romantic interest through said romantic interest. Yet, their was also the brutal side to his personality that stole center stage often, the side that enjoys poking at dead bodies with sticks, that breeds the urge to trip playing children running by, that laughs at violent slap-stick comedy. This particular trait was incurably fascinated.

Deep blue eyes, blinking away the haze, peered out tired, but victorious. "Pecker," the actual Maren murmured, "I needs rest now," voice one hundred percent her own and fainted out cold.

0000000

_Meanwhile, on another plane of existence, Kristy and Barbossa stood feet apart, or miles apart, there was really no space to measure here. A soundless wind, casting light and shadow, whisked their clothing and danced strands of Kristy's hair about, but was unfelt by the spirits. Barbossa frowned, tipping his hat, and Kristy nodded ever so slightly._

_"Yer talent'd bastard," Kristy spoke, "I'll be givin' ye that, but make no mistake, Maren's a lot more powerful then the likes o' any ghost."_

_"Seems to me," sneering, Barbossa flashed his rotten teeth, "there be plenty o' this Maren to go 'round. What ye say, luv? Let ole Barbossa in."_

_"Never."_

_"We can share her."_

_"Share yer mother," cocky, Kristy waved disgusted at Barbossa. "Ye reek o' fresh meat, ye do, two years dead, fresh off the slab! Sod sharin'. Take a gander at yerself lately?" she pointed at the gunshot wound stained with blood upon his chest, "Ye can't even hide yer death yet. That be graveyard stunts, pussy stuff."_

_"Hide me death?" Barbossa repeated skeptical._

_"Aye, ye think I look'd like this when ole Grim came for me?" and to Barbossa it seemed his perception of Kristy was melting. Her skin dried and chafed purple and blue. Blood filled the globes of her eyes until they protruded horrible and lifeless. Fingers and arms tensed into rigor mortis, while flakes of her flesh began blowing away. A long grey tongue protruded grotesquely and stiffly out of her mouth, bitten repeatedly, until her bottom teeth now poked out from the swollen muscle. Her nails grew and her brown hair was falling out. Around her neck, buried with hunching shoulders, was a mass of black bruises, appearing like a glamorous, deadly choker._

_"It all comes down to perception, me dear," the corpse creature said, "Like I said, yer talent'd and maybe a wee bit lucky, but yer nothin' compar'd to a forty year spook such as meself. Hell we once held off a two hundred year haunt and the gel was only nine, barely a slip o' a thing then. She's older now and be believin' me, a damn well stronger in her gifts then she cares to admit to herself. Maren knows who ye be now, she knows yer essence and yer potential, ye'll never be able to possess her 'gain. Hope ye made it count, 'twas the last time, I guarantee ye that. Ye fight her, ye fail, plain and simple, so bugger off!"_

_"Then why warn me?" flaring his nostrils, Kristy caught a quick glimpse at insanity like a gapping hole in his head._

_"Enjoy gloatin'," the death appeared to slip off of her presence and Kristy once again appeared as she did in life, before vanishing, abandoning the mutineer to fall uncontrollably back to his haunting place._

0000000

"Jack," Will sheathed his sword, praying the strange episode was finished, "What in the world was that?" Worried Elizabeth stepped out from behind her husband.

"Séance o' sorts," distracted, Jack had caught Maren when she collapsed, sparing her a definite bump on the head and cradled her protectively in his lap on the floor. Fondly he traced the contours of her face, arched eyebrows, the curve of her nose, the fall from cheeks to chin, and the part of her lips. Too awed to be properly concerned, Jack smiled madly up at them, "Splendid."

"I'll say," Elizabeth lowered herself behind Jack, peering cautiously over his shoulder, "What exactly happened?"

"She be a medium," defensive to their incredulous expressions Jack sarcastically furthered with, "Look, either ye believe yer own eyes and ears o' ye can believe she be Barbossa's long lost bastard daughter what has return'd to write her pa's biography, but takin' a brief hiatus from her novel ambitions," pausing, Jack waited for the pun to stir some pity laughter, but none came, " to get her kicks from performin' impeccable impersonations of her late father, including an implausible feat of not only changin' her voice, but also the very color of her eyes. Oh, and let's not be forgettin' the verity that this gel is exceptionally well-inform'd as to the happenings in Barbossa's sick mind. Let's have a vote, shall we? All in favor o' this lass bein' Barbossa's thespian, literary daughter, raise yer hand," silence as both Will and Elizabeth glared at him, "Right-o, now all those for a medium?" Jack flourished one hand, "There 'tis, the wench be a medium. Nice and democratic-like, only no persons were brib'd, murder'd, o' vot'd twice, but it still be a damn fine system o' government in theory."

"So," ignoring the plethora of gibberish that usually entailed Jack's sentences, Will inquired, "She, honest to God, communicates with the dead?"

"Aye," Jack was fiddling pensively with Maren's earlobe.

"How often?" producing her handkerchief, Elizabeth fanned Maren's slack face.

Jack mulled over his answer for a moment, "Well, she gabs to this whore ghost, name o' Kristy, all the time." On retrospect, Jack added quickly, "If yer here Miss Kristy, I be meanin' whore in the nicest way possible, promise" he spoke to the ceiling while Will and Elizabeth peeked nervously about. "But a spell like what just occurr'd here, only been a spectator to somehtin' like that once 'fore, few days ago, in Tortuga."

"Who was she…talkin' to then?" finally, Will joined them in kneeling by Maren.

Another silent instant before he answered, "Barbossa, only 'twas different that time." The Turner couple quirked eyebrows at each other when Jack pressed his lips to Maren's, gentle and firm, they were almost embarrassed to observe Jack in such an uncharacteristically caring action, "My God the things I can do with her."

"Jack!" slapping the captain's hand away from Maren's cheek, Elizabeth scolded, eyes slit and dangerous, "That best not mean what I imagine it means."

Innocent jeweled fingers splayed against his chest, "Thought never cross'd me mind, madam, I swears it. Evidently, ye be the one with ye head in the gutter," Jack tsk-ed, "My implication was more 'long the line of financial potential, rather than physical, savvy?" Jack hushed his voice and the Turners leaned their heads closer conspiratorially, "Consider the possibilities, me mates, blackmail, thievery, espionage. Ye heard the sayin', 'takin' a secret to the grave,'? Well not anymore. Daresay, that even if Rommie's fortune be two coppers and old underwear, this adventure will still be highly lucrative for yers truly. This medium might be the greatest treasure I ever acquir'd!" Then Jack grinned like the madman he kept proving himself to be.

Will exchanged a glance at Elizabeth, then determinedly stated, "Except, of course, that she is not a treasure, but a free-thinking, breathing human being."

Jack shrugged, dismissing such technicalities. Maren was _his_ now, obvious and perfectly natural. She was one of a kind, the ultimate rarity and that made her exceptionally valuable. And Jack was bound to the code of piracy to horde such a priceless commodity for himself, how could he call himself a pirate if he didn't keep her? No doubt about it, Jack _wanted_ Maren, all that was left was to convince Maren that she did indeed belong to him now.

"Will take that bastard ye conked out back to me Pearl," Jack gingerly, lifted Maren up as he stood, "Elizabeth, might I burden yer household with 'nother guest?"


	12. Old Skeletons

_Chapter Twelve: Old Skeletons_

"Elizabeth, might I burden yer household with 'nother guest?"

0000000

"Drink up, me hearties, yo ho," that smoky voice, now singing in absent-minded flats, awakened her. Jack reclined in a chair he'd pulled up to the bed, boots crossed and propped on the mattress, bathing in sunlight from the open window. Occasional he'd drink from a wine bottle, partially empty, "Yo ho, a pirate's life for me."

Maren moaned groggily, rolling on her side and burying her head in the downy pillow, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, can't ye sing somethin' else?" her muffled voice leaked out.

"Did'n think ye'd be appreciating a chorus o' 'May Done Be the Maiden', but if ye insist," Jack inhaled a mighty breath.

"No! No!" Maren shot up into a sitting position, blankets pooling at her waist and palm stretched out to Jack, "Anythin' but that, please! Ye gots no idea how many bloody times I've heard that damn song, workin' in a pub and all." Instead of responding, Jack smiled his devilish grin, lopsided and sly, eyes not quite meeting Maren's stare. Suspiciously, she followed his gaze, glancing down at herself and cried out, quickly pulling the comforter up to her chin, "Where's me corset!" Maren was clothed only in her shift and bloomers, sans dress and petticoats. The maddening blush, that almost picked up Jack by his manhood and tossed him into that bed to devour her, spilled over her cheeks and neck. She was acutely aware that her dusty white shift must have left little to Jack's vast imagination, the exact lining of her curves and the pink color of her nipples surely must have peeked through the flimsy material.

"No worries, me medium," Jack raised his wine glass in salute, "Yer whatnots be in the wash and I, sad to say, did'n even get to claim the honor o' undressin' ye. Elizabeth and her maid took that pleasure and kick'd me out o' the room." Pouting, Jack stared morosely at his feet, "Did'n even let me watch, no fair. Ye should be flatter'd though, I put up quite a fight to be stayin', but then Elizabeth threatened to castrate me with the stallions, so-," he fluttered his fingers out the door.

"How long have I slept?"

He cracked his neck, "Four hours. Yer borin' when ye sleep ye know that? Ye did'n even murmur me name in ecstasy once!"

"This be the Turner place?" Maren ignored him and studied the lavish surroundings of the room around her. Gold-foiled molds and velvet curtains decorated every surface of the spacious bedroom. Everything was enormous, the bed, the fireplace the windows, the mirror. Maren's heart lurched when she realized that the sheets she laid upon were satin, like her lovely torn dress, soft with sheen. This wasn't just wealth, this was _taste_ and even a gutter girl like Maren knew there was an colossal distinction between the two and it made her acutely uncomfortable. True her quarters in the Black Pearl were equally luxuriant, but that was different somehow. That was luxury for people who had experienced, or at least seen, real poverty. This sort of expensive luxury was bred for the type of gentility that were well aware of the meaning of 'poverty' on an educational level, but that was as far as their perception ran. Maren's knuckles turned white, clenching the blanket.

"Aye," Jack looked around the room too and Maren recognized the same restlessness adorn his features. "Elizabeth also took yer measurements, hope ye do'n mind. She's out now purchasin' ye a new wardrobe," lowering his feet, Jack sourly hanged one arm on the back of his chair, "With me purse I might add."

"Really? For me?" cocking an exciting eyebrow, Maren flashed a smile so gorgeous, Jack decided to memorize it and keep it for his next fantasy.

"Do'n go thankin' me," another long swag of wine, "Liz pitch'd a fit when she found out I kidnapp'd ye without notifyin' ye 'head o' time so ye could be packin' yer possessions. What she want me to do, give ye proper warnin'?" Jack seemed to still be fighting an argument he obviously lost a little while ago. "Anyway, she forced me to fork over some money and now she be spendin' every last shillin' on womansy things." The last phrase was uttered with fathomless confusion and intolerance soaked straight through.

"I never," her voice cracked and she gulped loudly before she continued, "I never thank'd ye suitable for the dresses ye gave me back on the Pearl. Only one fit, but I just want ye to know, it was the finest thing I've ever own'd." Mournfully, she petted the satin sheets, so much like that olive dress, "I'm sorry it ripp'd., satin bein' near impossible to mend and all."

"Now, is this an apology for just ruinin' that dress," Jack rubbed his beard thoughtfully, "O' are ye tryin' to apologize for escapin' and ruinin' that dress?"

Maren almost screamed in frustration, here she was attempting to civilly thank him and he insults her, "What the devil should I apologize for?" In her anger she almost released her grip on the comforter to throttle that conceited smirk off his cursedly handsome face, but decided it best to tuck it securely over her bust and under her arms, so her hands could rant unimpeded, "I was in me rights to free meself from that prison! Did I ever agree to come along on this cock-in-bull adventure? I think not!"

"We had a deal," he held out one finger and leaned forward.

"New deal Jack," Maren mimicked his motions, only her finger came up right under his nose, "Tell me everythin' 'bout what happen'd with Barbossa. Every God damn'd thing! I want to know how a two-year-dead ghost manages a possession miles away from his hauntin' place. I want to know how he can see Kristy, where the hell is she anyway?" distracted, Maren concentrated on her mentor and sensed her poking around about half a mile away. Satisfied she continued, "But most o' all, I want to know what yer part was in this drama! Answer fully and honestly, 'cause that bastard Barbossa show'd me quite a bit, I'll be catchin ye if ye try to lie. Appease me curiosity and _maybe_ I'll be concedin' to accompany ye back to the Black Pearl."

It was on the tip of his sassy tongue to remind her that she would have little to no choice in the matter, but on an island inhabited by the British Navy, Jack decided pushing her buttons could wait. Besides, all Maren demanded was a story and good Lord, Jack loved telling stories. The tiny restriction of honesty was a bit of a handicap though.

0000000

Jack was a marvelous storyteller. During the depiction of his odyssey, Jack had progressed from chatting casually in his chair to parading around the room, pantomiming the action sequences, mimicking the players voices, including a ridiculous falsetto to imitate Elizabeth that tickled Maren silly, and loosely rearranging the furniture to better illustrate the fantastic places he described. All Maren had to do was sit back, eyes transfixed and dancing with a childish glow, and occasionally interrupt Jack to remind him about not exaggerating or embellishing. Immediately Jack would forfeit with something like, "All right, maybe it weren't no five hundred pound gorilla, perhaps it 'twas 'bout a five mark shop monkey, but 'twas a pretty vicious littl' fucker none the less!" Jack had two things going for him, he saw the world through animated eyes and he loved to hear himself talk, excellent traits for a storyteller.

Maren was the perfect audience. Hypnotized, she hung on his every word, laughing at his jokes, clapping at the exciting parts, booing the villains, and even pretended to wipe away tears when Jack described the horror of the burnt rum. And Jack thoroughly appreciated her attentive nature, being a hopeless mumma's boy himself, he had lived his childhood in a brothel and with his mother and countless 'aunts' doting over his every whim, he was somewhat spoiled and relished in absolute female attention. In short, he was a ham, moreover, Maren's raptured interest in him was starting to seriously turn Jack on.

"So I tumble on this ruddy wall, practically ruinin' me grand exit, and fall head over heals in the chilly waters below," Jack was balanced on the back of his chair and leapt onto the bed, bouncing Maren up and down, "But no worries, 'cause there she be! Me Black Pearl returnin' for her one, true Cap'n! And we all liv'd happily ever after, sans Norrington, who will die old and 'lone and very, very homosexual." Grandly, Jack bowed to the four corners of the room, jumping playfully as he rotated to each direction, "Thus concludes the epic tale o' the great Cap'n Jack Sparrow and the Curse o' the Black Pearl. Thank ye, thank ye," Maren enthusiastically clapped from her perch below him on the bed, blanket still clutched over her chest, "Yer too kind! Please, no encore tonight." Blowing kisses to an invisible audience Jack blubbered, "If ye lik'd this ye should see me perform Hamlet."

"Bravo, bravo," Maren cheered, "Ye be a natural Jack! Ye really ought to play in the theatre."

At last, he flopped down on the bed, somewhat breathless from his excursions, "Any more questions, luv?"

Maren bit her lip, thinking things over, "I suppose the curse might be accountin' for Barbossa's aptitude after death, but then any other formerly curs'd pirates might have the same abilities, if they end up hauntin' that is." Pensively, she studied Jack, who was laying on his stomach, head propped up, supported by the elbows, and staring up at Maren who sat with her back against the headboard, "Ifen that be the case, ye might be possessin' them same abilities too."

This gave Jack pause for thought, "I do'n feel any different," he stated carefully.

"Still, I'd like to see if I can sense somethin'," leaning forward, hands stretched out towards his face, Maren added, "If it be all fair with ye."

Staring apprehensively at her oncoming touch, Jack asked, craning his face away, "This wo'n be tuggin' ye into 'nother one o' them trances, will it?"

"No, I should be fine," she smiled gently.

"Do'n ye need Kristy?"

"It's just ye, aint it?" Maren tilted her head near his, eyes half-lidded and very sultry, "Thought ye told me, I do'n have nothin' to fear from ye."

So it was a challenge! This Jack could accommodate. He smirked purposely, scooting himself into a sitting position across from Maren, "Have at it them."

"Good," blinking a few times, Maren stared intently at Jack, face straight and blank. Their gazes locked for a few awkward moments. Dark blue pools meeting heavily kohl-ed browns. More soundless seconds of discomfort, until Jack, still giddy from Maren's seemingly agreeable disposition towards him, started snickering, vainly attempting to swallow his giggles. "Stop it, Jack," she snipped, "Yer distractin' me." He controlled himself long enough to stay quiet, but the silly grin he sported was beyond him. "I can't see anythin' out o' the ordinary, try closin' yer eyes and concentrate," Maren shut her eyes too.

Obliging her, Jack squinted, seeing blackness, "Concentrate on what per say?"

"Nothing," tender and warm, Maren pressed two sets of fingertips on eitherside of Jack's temple. Initially, his first instinct was to pull away from the contact, feeling a distinct force between her hands, but he steadied himself. "Clear yer mind o' all thought," a hint of inflexion in Maren's voice said she didn't suspect this would be too difficult a task for him to perform.

"Easy 'nough," Jack slurred then included, confused, "Wait, did that count as a thought?"

"Shut up Jack."

"Touché."

Again they sat in silence, acutely aware of the other's breathing. While Maren _sought_, Jack cracked open one disobedient eye to study her. There was a slight knot in her brow and the faintest frown across her lips. His vision danced merrily along her bare arms, across the expanse of her smooth shoulders only covered by the straps of her shift, and climbed up the arch of her throat, settling on that enticing part where neck met ear and jawbone. The impulse compelled him to act and who was he to deny an impulse?

Maren sucked in a sharp breath when Jack bent forward to lay a small kiss upon her skin under her earlobe. Her face burned bashfully, but she didn't protest and kept her fingers against his brow, eyes still closed. Accepting this as an invitation, Jack placed two more kisses in the same place, intensifying the pressure and intimacy a little. Involuntarily, Maren hunched her shoulders up when his beaded beard stroked her shoulder, "That tickles," she whispered. "I suppos'd to be focusin', Jack," reprimanding him teasingly, Maren pressed her cheek against his hand as he caressed her face.

"Who be stoppin' ye?" Maren could almost feel the golden sparkle from his smile behind her black eyelids, "Focus to yer heart's content, while I be focusin' on mine." Aggressively, he possessed her mouth as completely as Barbossa had possessed her body, and Jack had every intention to follow the exact same suit. Maren's stomach flip-flopped, did he just refer to her as his heart's content? Had she really thought she hated this man only hours ago, impossible! Totally adoring every fiber of Jack's soul, not to mention his alluring body, at that singular moment, Maren opened her mouth against his lapping tongue, hot and inviting.

Giving up the search for the undead in Jack, Maren removed her hands from his forehead and wrapped them securely around his neck, savoring the proximity of their flesh as Jack held her by the shoulders and pressed her closer. She twisted his tangled locks in her fingers, roughly tugging back to subject him to a lustful gaze. She gradually opened her eyes, hazing in on Jack's features…luckily, her throat sealed shut in her panic when she jerked away, because her scream surely would have deafened Jack.

Rotting flesh, decayed and grey, hung from bleached bones like sick cobwebs. The gold and white teeth were permanently smiling a fleshless grin of death. Through random holes in the corpse, Maren could see to the other side of the room. Insides the hollowed chamber of the torso, several chunks of dark red organs remained clinging to assorted bones and ribs. There was a mass of hair, she vaguely recognized the dreadlocks and charms of Jack, but her stunned mind was too slow to connect, with bits of scalp somehow scabbing on the shiny skull. Tattered clothes hung loosely like its festering skin around its frame. Impossible to discern its emotions by its facial expressions, it having no face to speak of, Maren saw it roll its eyes around in the sockets, the eyelids long gone, and reach a bony hand out to touch her face. "Stay away from me!" Maren hoarsely shouted, slamming the decayed appendage away from her. The terrifying skull lurched towards her, opening its mouth with a blackened tongue, dry like sandpaper, nestled inside. Every ounce of strength, seasoned with adrenaline, snapped her fist at its offending jaw, cracking painfully against the skeleton and toppling it over the edge of the bed. The heavy thud it produced as it landed shot Maren crawling backwards until her back connected with the headboard. There she froze, burying her self against the wall.

"Not that I do'n appreciate the rough stuff," Jack's voice honed like a beacon through Maren's foggy shock, "But that bloomin' hurt!" Perturbed, Maren stretched her neck to gaze over the side of the bed where the skeleton was swaying to its booted feet. Hands on hips, the corpse spoke with Jack's slurring drawl, clear as day, "Ye do'n happen to suffer from one o' more o' them seriously debilitatin' mental disorders, do ye? Cause, ye be runnin' hot and cold."

Maren didn't respond, she couldn't, all she could do was watch with sick curiosity at the dangling skin swinging to and fro on Jack's chin while he talked. 'Oh God,' the thought retched in her mind, 'I kiss'd it!' Repulsed, she broke out in a cold sweat as she scrubbed her mouth and tongue with the back of her hand, sputtering deep coughs.

Jack stood in a perplexed stupor. Everything had been going so smoothly. He was pretty positive Maren intended to board the Black Pearl willingly this time and was pleasantly sure Maren was a hop, skip, and jump away from spreading those delicious thighs for him, but now this? A shout, a slap, and now spitting? It wasn't often Jack encountered someone madder then he was, really what were the odds? But here was Maren, plainly the clock for his cuckoo and it fascinated him beyond measure! "I've been slapp'd and I have been shriek'd at. I've been threaten'd, shov'd, and chas'd by offend'd husbands," here Jack's flared his eyes and flashed his gold teeth like fangs, but to Maren his features remained the same fleshless bone, "But I've never seen such fear, such disgust from any woman I ever kiss'd, ever! And Mother of God, it turns me on!"

Crawling up the bed to Maren, like a fantastic nightmare, Jack crept catlike, "The fear I understand. Why ye scar'd o' me Maren?" He paused and pleased that his seduction was leaving her apparently gaping and speechless, continued, "I be tellin' ye! Ye want me, gel, ye want so bad it scares ye. Aint that right? Do'n be frighten'd Maren, pleasures o' the flesh be perfectly natural desires. We be sexual creatures after all," propped up on hands and knees, Jack lowered himself to Maren's ankles, pressing a feather light kiss against her shivering skin. Mistaking her terrified squeak as a vainly virginal resistance to her lust, Jack hungrily nipped at her other ankle, whispering against the flesh when he was finished, "And the disgust I understand too."

'Not bloody likely,' somewhere, through the maze of comatose panic in Maren's brain, the smartarse in Maren, who sounded suspiciously like Kristy, thought to herself.

"Cause I am, Maren," Jack had resumed his hypnotic climb on all fours, hovering over Maren's hips, "I am a disgusting' fiend and ye know what I think? I think that gets ye off!" Chuckling, deep and smoky in his throat, Jack half talked, half moaned, "Aye, I be a filthy, dirty scoundrel and ye love it, do'n ye?" lewdly Jack lapped his red tongue up Maren's quivering stomach, wetting the linen fabric of her shift. Unfortunately, to the eyes of the medium, a decomposing corpse was licking her. It was a miracle she stayed conscious. "And I'm going to be doin' the most disgustin', vile, naughty things to ye Maren and by Davey Jones, ye'll be beggin' me for more," raising himself over her pale face, Jack straddled her hips with his thighs, "Give us a kiss."

Maren's power of speech finally returned to her, inspired by the descending skull, though she spoke in a hoarse whisper, high-pitched and shaky, but very slow, "I'm goin' to vomit."

This gave Jack a moment's hesitation, a little flabbergasted, a little unsure, "I'm not into that sort o' thing," he said warily.

"Listen to me very carefully," Maren's voice was becoming stronger, "At this instant, I not be seein' the Cap'n Sparrow I know," she hurried and raised her speech to cut his question off, "Insteady, I be seein' a fuckin' rottin' skeleton drap'd over me body!" The panic was seeping through and Maren was getting louder and more forceful by the moment, "Apparently, this is what ye look'd like when ye was undead and if ye do'n get yer lousy, bony arse off me right now," she shouted and finished in a scream, "I will go insane and I be TAKIN' YE WITH ME!"

Jack leapt off…


	13. New Friends

Chapter 13: New Friends 

Jack leapt off…

Maren was visibly shaking, the shuddering starting from her stomach and dancing down her limbs. Inhaling large gulping breaths, she attempted to soothe herself, this walking corpse was, despite of appearances, just Jack. The infuriating and passionate man, who swung the thin line between love and loathing in her heart, may look like a rotten skeleton to her gift, but her mind forced her to recall that Jack's touch had been one of flesh, not bone. His kiss was composed of lips and his tongue, for that sizzling lick, had been moist and warm. Jack was Jack, alive and well, and the reminder did wonders for her panic, washing it away like sin at a baptism.

"Come 'gain luv," hands held in harmless surrender, Jack's brow crossed, "Cause, keepin' in mind I drink me fair share, it sound'd like ye just said I be a skeleton?" To be positive of his state of mortality, Jack patted his torso down, it was all there, flesh, heartbeat, the frustrated erection, "Aye," the lopsided grin again, "ye might be wrong on this one, me medium."

To Jack's utter disappointment, Maren clutched at the blanket again and wrapped it securely about her person, "Course yer not _really_ a skeleton," Jack noticed Maren's gaze was locked onto his boots, refusing to look at him fully, "But that be how I sees ye at the moment, so please Jack, no touchin' me."

Jack did nothing to mask his discouraged groan, "Well…turn it off already!" His blood still boiled feverishly and he squirmed, barely restraining himself from pouncing on the insufferable virgin.

"Give me a second!" she snipped, her eyes flashing angrily to his face, but then seeing that fleshless grin, grimaced and lowered to his boots again, "I be needin' to concentrate…and quite movin' 'bouts!" Abruptly, Jack stopped his fidgeting. "It's distractin' and very…disconcertin'," meekly she added, suddenly very ashamed of her fear.

"For someone that converses with dead people all the ruddy time," hands on hips and head cocked, Jack smirked down at her, "ye're very squeamish."

"Aye ghosts," bitterly, she bit at him, eyes nailed to the floor, "Skeletons flauntin' themselves all over me, that be 'nother story!" Determined and offended, Maren squinted her eyes tightly shut, repeating like a holy mantra that Jack was not a corpse, the curse of the Aztec gold was broken, and he was a living man of flesh and blood now…some very enticing flesh at that-no, she couldn't be sidetracked by that!

"_Blessed be the Name!_" emerging from the floor and clasping her ghost fingers under her chin, Kristy twirled about, her phantom skirts floating around an unfelt wind, "_They bought ye clothes Maren! A whole new wardrobe, three dresses, nightgown, cloak, two sets o' pantalets-,_" Kristy glared suspiciously at Jack, "_I thought Elizabeth lock'd that wanker out o' here!_" Noticing Maren sitting resolutely on the edge of the bed, eyes welded closed, Kristy asked, annoyed at her cheery tidings being ignored, "_Ye silly git, what ye doin' now?_"

'Look at Jack,' Maren communicated silently, 'What ye see?'

The spirit complied befuddled, but bluntly honest, "_Broad shoulders, tight arse, and a hell o' a stiffy,_" she giggled demonically, "_What ye two been up to here?_" Her eyebrows waggled suggestively, swiping her tongue over her teeth as she examined Jack's agitated state closely. A thin sheen of sweat had wet his forehead and though his breathing was slowed, it was deep and forced. The most telltale sign of unrequited lust was his dark eyes, wandering desperately over Maren's hidden form, sparkling smothered embers.

"Finish'd?" he ground out a smile in spite of his impatience, licking his lips anxiously.

Reluctantly, Maren cracked a blue eye and gambled a quick look at Jack…a fully restored, living Jack! His kohl-lined gaze watched her expectantly and his coppered skin glowed beautifully like never before, dear god, Maren had never been so relieved. The clothes he wore, the grime under his fingernails, down to his curly eyelashes all back to normal or as reasonably close to the normalcy equivalent Jack could ever hope to achieve. A half sob, half laugh escaped Maren's gasp, "Thank goodness!" the blushing medium leapt from the bed, comforter tugged along, to throw her small arms around Jack's neck and he gratefully wrapped his limbs about her slim waist.

"_Um,_" clearing her throat, Kristy growled out obnoxiously, "_By all means, do'n be mindin' the ghost, she do'n need to know what's been happenin'._" Again she was disregarded.

They shared a friendly hug, Maren relishing in his comforting body heat, soothing not only because of his warmth, but also as further proof to her senses that her vision was but a nightmare. Jack devilishly deducing how quickly he could shift the mood from friendly to sensual again, "All better now?" he cooed sweetly into her ear, rocking her side-to-side like a mother does a fretting child. Maren only nodded, laying her head against his broad chest and listening to the sweet rhythm of his heartbeat, the echo of his deep breaths in his lungs, both further evidence of his wellbeing. She was the perfect height to rest her ear at his heart, while Jack set his chin atop her head, turning his face to kiss her hair tenderly. "There, there, pretty gel," stroking her back, Jack chuckled and Maren savored the vibrations it sent through his chest, "What ye so work'd up for, eh? Jack be takin' care o' ye. 'Live o' undead, yer safe with me." Again Maren shook her head in agreement, desperate to feel the security of Jack's embrace and promising words. But suddenly her relaxation evaporated to trepidation thick with suspicion as Jack's hand drifted down her spine to cup her generous rump, squeezing the swell of her backside affectionately, "What say ye, we climb back in that comfy bed and pick up where we left off? I know a right tumble always sets me mind back at ease."

Well it was a tiny comfort to have the old, rude Jack back, even if it entailed the annihilation of what had the potential to be a heartwarming scene of relief and amity. Maren craned her swan neck to stare at him incredulously. "Jack," exasperated, she tried to pry his hold off of her posterior, but Jack's libido was unrelenting, "I just saw ye as a rottin', fleshless, heap o' bones," his vacant smile remained steadfast, desperately Maren continued to explain, "I'm hardly…'in the mood', understand?"

"Ah-ah!" shoving a finger under her nose, Jack adjusted his grasp around her waist with one arm, "But ye _were_ 'in the mood', weren't ye? 'Fore ye open'd them pretty blues o' yers and gander'd at me all dead-like, ye were ready and willin' to wrestle ole Jack in the sheets, right?"

"_What he blatherin' 'bout Pet?_"

"Um…"

"Right?" Jack subjected her to his stare, sharp and scrutinizing.

"_Maren?_"

"…maybe," the medium muttered grudgingly.

"Well 'maybe' be an improvement at least," exaggerating a sigh, he rested his forehead against her, both grimacing when they made contact a little too solidly, "And what 'bout that other matter, in reference to yer acquiescence to rejoin the crew of the Black Pearl? Mmm?"

She smiled coyly, "Maybe."

"Maybe?" his eyebrows quirked.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? Not probably?"

Absently, Maren toyed with a loose thread at the collar of his shirt, "Maybe probably."

"Not possibly definitely?" Jack stuck out his bottom lip, pouting boyishly.

"No, definitely possibly."

"Perhaps ye should answer in 'absolutely aye' o' 'absolutely nay'."

"All right."

Furrowing his brow, Jack's fingers dashed around an unseen scale, "Now be that an 'All right, I'll give ye a decisive answer' o' 'All right, I'll give ye me final consent'?"

"Both."

"Both?"

"Aye."

"This aint one o' those maybe, perhaps, probably, possible aye's, is it?"

"Positively not."

He muttered the conversation once more under his breath, checking his comprehension of the verbal tango before his face erupted in satisfaction, "Spendid!" Jack leaned in for a kiss…

An embarrassed cough sounded from the doorway. Mad pirate and psychic barmaid froze in a strange tableau, slowly twisting blank faces towards the door. Elizabeth and Will stood self-consciously with parcels in hand, not quite meeting the others' eyes. "Are we interrupting something?" the lady of the house asked politely.

"Yes, get out," Jack snipped.

Elbowing him viciously in the ribs, Maren laughed a little too loudly, "O' course not!" She waved frantically, taking liberally large steps away from Jack, "Do'n be silly, Cap'n Sparrow was just leavin'! Aint that right…_Jack_?" and glared so fiercely that Jack didn't even attempt to argue.

0000000

'This be scandalous for sure!' Maren examined her reflection in the mirror, biting her lip as she spun about to glance over her shoulder, 'Proper ladies should'n be wearin' no underwear that goes 'bove the knees.'

"_Thems pantalets,_" huffing, Kristy scratched her chin in thought, also studying the article of clothing that deceptively appeared to be bloomers, but turned out to be about six inches shorter. The result was a saucy garment that tied two inches above Maren's knees, "_Thems suppos'd to be like that, its call'd, little word ye might not heard tell of…fashion, ye silly twit!_" She clarified, nose in the air, "_None o' these hobnob gent-women wear bloomers anymore, got to be all French-like, savvy?_"

'Style o' no,' Maren glared at her white knees peeking out from the frilly lace that hemmed the bottom of her drawers, 'Still scandalous.' The medium stood in her new cotton chemise, white stockings, whalebone corset, and risqué pantalets. Upon the bed were three dresses, a dressing robe, a long nightgown, another set of undergarments identical to the ones she wore, and fluffy petticoats. The linen was soft but flawlessly pressed, wonderfully beautiful even if it wasn't the beloved satin of her previous garment. The dresses were lightly colored, one blue, one red, and one grey. Modest but fashionable, Maren trailed her fingers adoringly over the tiny stitches, so richly crafted. This was not only the largest wardrobe she ever owned, but also the finest. Wealth was certainly easy to grow accustomed to.

Maren had informed Kristy of the fantastic events of the Aztec's curse and the disturbing vision of the undead Jack, but the ghost was far more interested in the particulars of his skilled, if somewhat oblivious, seduction of Maren. "_Oh poor bugger!_" merrily she laughed, head thrust back and throat guffawing loudly, "_Just when he be raisin' them bids, ye deal him a bust._" She kept up her gigantic hilarity until she breathlessly wiped away a happy tear, "_Sorry bastard's ne'er gettin' laid._"

Kristy in turn explained in minute detail the exact happenings of her conversation with Barbossa, that the servants of the Turner house were paid a 'bonus' to keep Jack's visits a firm secret, and that Jack had showed surprisingly little resistance to Elizabeth's insistence of purchasing his kidnappee a new wardrobe. "_Aye, he act'd all pissy-prissy 'bout the whole idea, but I swears he was reachin' for that moneybag 'for he was even finish'd his bitchin',_" she winked.

This small sentimentality Jack had omitted in his own narration of Elizabeth's whereabouts touched Maren, but she still bit out defensively as if it was nothing except common courtesy, 'Honestly, it be the least he can do!'

So here she stood in her new underwear, still crisp from the tailor, left alone by the Turners and Jack to dress for dinner. A swift bout of melancholy swept over her as she recalled that the handsome young couple had avoided eye contact with her. Maren had seen that familiar expression of nervous bewilderment so many times in her girlhood it seemed second nature to anyone around her…except maybe Jack who had reacted drastically yet enthusiastically and now appeared thoroughly delighted by every dire aspect of her _gift_. It was weirdly flattering to be finally appreciated as talented, a talented freak of nature maybe, but still extremely talented nonetheless. For the first time since her father's pride in her abilities, did Maren feel so respected and almost…cherished.

Shaking away those disturbing musings like sticky cobwebs from her head, Maren chose the blue dress and busied herself with loops and lacing, only semi listening to Kristy prattle on about the shopping trip. "_Elizabeth be the sweetest creature ever, so friendly, always said 'please' and 'thank you' to the shopkeeps. Not orderin' peoples 'bout like some o' these rich bitches go on with. And Will! What a gentleman, but still a pub bloke if I ever saw one,_" Kristy grinned roguishly, "_And has he ever got a fire in his britch's! By me grave, he could'n keep his hands off her! Every alley o' door he'd be tuggin' behind somethin' o' other and pin her to wall, kissin' her and whisperin' the deprav'd acts o' carnality he could force 'pon her. Sweet buggery, sure made me blood boil, o lack thereof!_" she rolled her eyes. "_Suspect Elizabeth must be possessin' a will o' steal, 'cause all she'd do was glare at him coy-like, with them slanty eyes and poutin' lips. Ye know the look, ye always givin' it to Jack what makes him antsy-,_" insulted, Maren huffed, but Kristy grilled on, "_Anyway, so she do'n say a word, just slides her hand down his body to the equator where she pats him good, then leaves him high and dry! What a tease, eh? Ye two should 'come fast friends all right-._"

'Me dear Kristy, be ye insinuatin',' Maren growled while hunching over to put her boots on, 'that _I_ be a tease?'

"_Be Jack a drunk?_"

Opening her mouth to retort with something equally scathing and witty, Maren was interrupted by a knock on the door, "Miss Attle, are you decent? I have come to fetch you to dinner," it was Elizabeth, sounding assuredly warm and welcoming.

"One moment Missus Turner," Maren glanced at the mirror to check her reflection. Her image demanded a pause to admire herself, the blue of her sparkling eyes, the pale sheen to her braided hair, and the fabric hugging her tempting figure. A thought arose unbidden, _I hope Jack likes it…_ halting everything, what was that! Merciful God, she'd only confessed her love that morning and already her heart was dictating her life to her. Well sod that! Maren wasn't going to be controlled by some bloated organ in her chest cavity. The details of her life, such as her physical appearance, were for her satisfaction and hers alone! Who cares what Jack fancies? The man was a lunatic, besides the strangest things seemed to spur him about. Yesterday it was her blush, today it was a slap in the face, Jesus knew what'd wind him up tomorrow…

Resolutely, Maren reached for the door, stalling a moment to ask Kristy silently, 'Did the Turners talk 'bout me?'

The ghost didn't require an explanation to the question, understanding the years of ostracism forced upon an extremely unique and lonely girl, "_Aye, they mutter'd 'bout how strange 'twas-._"

'Ye mean how strange _I_ am,' she interjected, pathetically meek.

"_Mostly they gabb'd at how scar'd they was, all terrifi'd to hear Barbossa's voice 'gain and get a glimpse into those digustin' thoughts that was runnin' in that sick-shit head o' his. But I tell ye, Gibbs is right, ye have to be a special person for Jack to 'like' ye and Jack 'likes' these people, they be good people, Pet. Not two licks after they was frettin' 'bout how frighen'd 'twas, then they were laughin' at how brave and brassy ye were to strike Jack o'er the noggin with that board. Aye, good people 'em two, be patient with 'em, lend them a bit to adjust to the whole ghost thing,_" Kristy fritted her hands about in dismissal, "_And aint no reason why the lot o' ye shouldn't be family by the end o' the night._"

Letting her grasp drop on the handle, Maren peered adoringly over her shoulder, 'How is it, ye always know just what to say?'

"_A lady always knows exactly what to say,_" her lips pursed, Kristy spoke with crystal refinement then added more to her norm, "_And aint I a fuckin' lady?_"

0000000

"By the Father, Son, and Davey Jones," enthralled and amazed, Jack swished the sword through the air, catching the light gracefully off its blade. Three wooden crates were displayed in the middle of the den and stacked inside each, sheathed in plain leather, were meticulously crafted swords. He rolled the hilt around the palm of his hand, "Whatever I'm payin' ye whelp, 'taint 'nough."

"You are paying me a small fortune Jack," Will had his arms crossed before his chest, attempting to accept Jack's exuberant compliments and praises with proper modesty, but a self-satisfied grin was shining upon his face, "Besides, anymore wealth on my part and people might question as to where I am acquiring said fortune."

"Oh my," reverently, Jack replaced the weapon in its sheath and returned it to its resting place in the crate, "Business with a thievin', dishonest blackguard, whatever will the neighbors think?"

Will laughed, his voice ringing like brass bells, "I rather suspect they will think I am providing another service for the British Navy."

Unfortunately, he didn't hear the joke, Jack was too distracted, a familiar state for Jack's inebriated senses, by a lean bladed sword with an oddly weighted guard and handle. He retrieved it from the box, confused and cross-eyed, "What's this now? Can't be a long-sword, the double-edge be too impractical. Still, too bizarre a balance for fencin'," he garbled as an afterthought.

"Only for a person of your own model Jack," with a fulsome grin, Will respectively took the blade from Jack and presented it against the palms of his hands, "But for a person of the feminine persuasion, this is a specifically accommodating sword."

"Somethin' enlightens me that ye aint referring to Paulson," catching on, Jack began listening intently, fiddling with the beads in his hair.

"I am referring to Anamaria of course," the excitement was building in the master blacksmith, urging his clipped words to rush out in indulgence of his art. "Think of it! A practical sword made functional for a woman. What a challenge it was! There were so many varying factors. The proportion of her legs to her torso, the proportion of her arms to the length in her step, the proportion of the strength in her upper body as opposed to the strength in the lower half, and that is only the relative size differences! Think of all the variation in muscle capacity and usage. Why that alone took me a month of deciphering. Did you know, Jack, that a woman's center of gravity is located lower in her body than that of a man's?" Will was a tad breathless.

"Really?" Jack muttered, impressed, but quickly recovered his semblance of lady-expert by defensively barking out, "Course I knows it, read up on the matter a long time 'go in that one book…wossaname, ye know, that Indy book? Karla no…Karma Suti…Sutri…Sutra! That be it, the Kama Sutra!" Winking at Will and sadistically delighting in his innocent flush, Jack beamed happily, "Now that was a fascinatin' read, let me tell ye, there be this one diagram o' how a single man can pleasure six women at the exact same time-."

"So what of the sword?" hasty to change the subject, Will waved the weapon about, "Do you think Anamaria will like it?"

"-course the ladies at his feet would have to do most o' the work themselves," the pirate finished his musings before addressing Will, "What? Oh, um…the sorry thing is…Anamaria can be, well a bit stubborn 'bout her sex. Sensitive subject for her."

"So?" Will's drew his brows together.

"So," expanding his syllables, Jack spoke cautiously, "She be littl' paranoid 'bout not bein' treat'd none different from the rest o' the crew, savvy? Everythin' has to be same-same, totally equal. If the men use them kind o' swords," he pointed to the crates, "she uses them kind o' swords."

"But Jack," desperately, Will attempted to reason, "she will fight easier and better with this sword."

"Do'n matter, she'll reckon I'm patronizin' her," catching the dejected expression shadowing Will's face, Jack hurried, "Not to say I wo'n try, mind. Only once Anamaria has her mind set…" Jack's hands fluttered around as if this gesture expressed the thought process of all womankind.

Will tried not to be too disappointed, but he _had_ worked very hard on the weapon. For months, he had driven Elizabeth, the maids, and the cook half-crazy with measurements and posing, researching the female physic to create the perfect sword. And though he hadn't dared admit it to Jack, he had studied the potential of a woman's flexibility and balance from the Kama Sutra, on a purely professional level of course (though Elizabeth did assist him in 'demonstrating' several of the more choice articles in question and at the moment the, the erotic book was tucked securely away under their mattress with certain pages bookmarked for future reference). In short, this blade was no longer a mere sword, but a labor of love, a composition of determination, and a work of art. And damn it, Will was proud of it! Why must Anamaria be so insecure with her gender?

The sound of footfalls descending the staircase stirred Will from his pouting. Elizabeth and Maren were coming down and Will blinked at them, an idea struck, "Jack, why not give the sword to Maren?"

"Maren?" incredulous, Jack followed Will's gaze to the stairs, "Are ye out o' yer mind? With her and her mood swings, she'll cut me throat 'fore the night is out…o' certain other valuables o' me person." Jack flashed his gold teeth in a charming smile while Maren and Elizabeth drew closer. The barmaid could have been mistaken as one of the lady's peers, a wealthy plantation owner's daughter or a young lieutenant's wife perhaps.

Jack noticed how the blue color of the new dress stained Maren's eyes azure, fathomless like the depths of the ocean lit only by the full moon…son of a bitch, that cursed repressed poet in Jack kept daring to escape! No more fluffy thoughts, damn it, they weren't his way and Jack was all too aware of exactly what was to blame for his seemingly romantic inclinations…virginity. Virgins always put men in the queerest moods, as if their very presence was a gentle form of mental emasculation. Also, the three near-hit-and-misses of the past twenty-four hours didn't help to clear his mind much. Well there was only one natural cure for virginity and Jack always did enjoy playing 'doctor'. 'Tonight,' he decided, 'no more excuses, tonight for sure.'

0000000

They exchanged a few pleasantries at the dining table, casually munching away on fine china. Will and Maren sat opposite Elizabeth and Jack, who had his napkin tucked in his shirt collar and, after pouring the other three wine, abruptly kept the bottle for himself. Unbeknownst to the Turners, he was also tormenting poor Maren under the table, sliding a suggestive boot under her dress to rub her calf. The host and hostess attempted to keep the conversation circulating, but they were continuously distracted with the ominous empty chair that Jack had laid out especially at the head of the table for Maren's ghost-friend. Two pairs of curious eyes constantly swiveled back to that vacant seat as if to check that it hadn't moved or disappeared mysteriously.

Finally Elizabeth, though embarrassed she might make her present company, both seen and unseen, uncomfortable, just had to ask, "Is…_she_," she gestured towards the chair from which Kristy waved cheerfully, "here now?" For some reason, such a direct inquiry seemed untactful to her, admittedly she hadn't a clue when it came to supernatural protocol what was proper and what wasn't. Does one speak to a ghost in third or first person?

"Pardon?" a sidetracked Maren kicked Jack's shin hard, satisfied with his stifled grunt and the retreat of his foot. "Oh," noticing where Elizabeth was pointing, Maren nodded, "Aye, she's there all right."

Both Elizabeth's and Will's stares were anchored to that bare seat, one of them gulped loudly. "Well," Elizabeth breathed deeply and on exhale resolutely smiled, "Then, on behalf of my husband and I, let me welcome our first spirit to the dining table." She gracefully raised her glass and the others followed suit, Jack with his bottle, "To Miss…-," pleadingly she looked to Maren.

"Miss Ellsworth," Maren supplied, "Miss Kristina Ellsworth."

"To Miss Ellsworth and Miss Attle, new friends are blessings," procuring her glass to click musically with the others, she then saluted to Kristy.

"Here here," Will tipped his drink to the ghost as well.

Shy from the touching endearment, Maren shrugged, "Please call me Maren." Kristy cleared her throat, "And Miss Ellsworth, Kristy."

"Then you must call me Elizabeth and Mister Turner, Will."

"And Jack a son of a bitch!" Will interjected.

Everyone giggled at the jest, even Jack who added, "She already does that mate."

The lines that defined Kristy's phantom shape blurred rather comically when she blew her nose on the sleeve of her tattered dress, "_Ghah! Thems tearin' me up! We ne'er had a more civil reception, eh Pet? They be so very kind, and good, and friend-._" Somewhere Kristy's perverted paranoia, bred from the harsh streets of lower London, spoke up, "_Ye do'n reckon them two one o' those trader types? Ye know, exchange bedfellows, the Ole Switcharoo._"

Maren choked on her wine, her shocked eyes wide.

"_Aye, strange fetish 'tis, but I suppose whatever floats yer boat, I certainly not be one to judge. It's always the quiet ones too, ne'er would have suspect'd. I can see it now, ye all sit down for drinks in the study, sweet and innocent-like, then **BAM**!_" snapping her finger, Kristy waggled her eyebrows, "_'Fore ye can think, Will'll have pounced on yer virgin arse and Jack and Elizabeth will be snoggin' on the floor like dogs! Lordy, ye do'n think maybe them bloomin' orgy-ists, do ye? Instead o' two pairs, they're plannin' one big quadruplet! What sick bastards…can I watch?_" she whined.

'Jesus Christ Kristy!' Maren rolled her blue eyes, totally exasperated, 'Do me a favor and keep me out o' yer sick fantasies!' "Knock it off Sparrow!" shouting out loud, Maren jabbed the heel of her boot into Jack's toe that had begun to slink up her ankle again.

"Ouch!" his knee firmly thumped the table, shaking the dinnerware on top and startling their hosts. "That's _Captain_ Sparrow, ye pissin' wildcat," he said, rubbing his sore foot and kneecap, endearingly put out.

"Jack," Elizabeth swiped at his arm, hissing under her breath "Leave her alone." Suddenly, she sniffed daintily, nostrils flaring, "Did I not request you bathe yourself before dinner?" Next to Maren, Will caught the psychic's gaze to wink and pointedly roll his eyes, apparently a very common argument was stirring.

The pirate released a haggard sigh before patiently explaining, "I told ye, woman, baths are wicked bad for a man's health. Proven medical fact that is! Baths make ye awful sick, all the prominent minds o' the scientific community agree. Just read up on this very matter while I be nabbin'-," hastily, he corrected, "_borrowin'_ some necessary materials from a University 'round Hampshire way, specifically so I could come back here and argue with ye special. Sweats got…what's the word? _Vitamins_! Aye that's it, vitamins! When a human bein' perspires they release the body's nutrients in sweat and that very sweat acts like a barrier type deal to sickness and whatnot, so by washin' away this natural protection to the elements, one leaves their body vulnerable to all sort o' calamity." Smugly, he leaned back into his chair and folded his ringed fingers over his stomach.

"Jack," deceptively sweet, Elizabeth raised her aristocrat chin, "that was an extremely well versed and researched argument on the functions of the human form, not to mention very informative."

Cheerily, Jacked nodded, "Thank you, rather impressed meself."

"But," Elizabeth's smiled the kind of grin usually associated with menacing dorsal fins and dreaded sharp teeth, "Those keen minds of the medical world are not guests in my house, are not partaking at my table, and have never soiled my fine satin sheets with the most stubborn of stains and odors! And if they were here, I would readily inform them of their sheer ignorance." Breathy from frustration, Elizabeth bore on, "I ask you, which is more liable to ruin one's health? This preposterous theory of _vitamins_ in perspiration or the obvious fact that urban living is so utterly filthy that the water is chewable and rarely is it properly heated for the colder climates of the north?"

"So what yer sayin' is?" Jack preferred his dirty palms up.

"Take a bath Jack."

Desperately, Jack's kohl eyes floundered about for an escape and landed on Maren, who watched Jack being nagged with keen interest, "Maren hasn't had a bath," he said lamely.

"Maren doesn't reek," Elizabeth poked at his arm again, then addressed Maren, her voice transforming to sociable grace in an instant, "However, you are most welcome to avail yourself to the washroom whenever you wish, you've but to ask."

A bath? A genuine bath? Not a wet rag or the convenient horse troth, but an actual tub, wood or perhaps even porcelain, filled to the brim with hot water? Biting her tongue to smother the goofy grin that threatened to shatter her coy demeanor, Maren forced her sentence out in a calm monotone, "Why thank you, a bath would be very much appreciat'd."

Jack's hands clapped and hissed while he rubbed them together, "Splendid! Then it be decid'd, after dinner Maren and I will retire to the washroom to have ourselves a lovely, and very lengthy if I might add, in duration of course, not in actual size mind ye, well as it pertains to the tub that is, in reference to length and other matters-but I'm gettin' 'head o' meself aren't I? A bath! Absolutely perfect, I'm always complainin' how I require help to scrub me back."

Glaring at him and praying that she might turn him to stone like Medusa herself, Maren growled, "Drop dead Cap'n!"

"If I do, I'm hauntin' yer dandy littl' arse," Jack smirked, "for ever and ever."

0000000

Maren hummed to herself offhandedly, brushing the pale strands of her hair into a silken waterfall. Staring dreamily into the mirror, she smiled as she remembered Narcissus, transfixed by his reflection in the water. Was she pretty enough to enchant herself into a flower? All modesty aside, she knew she was attractive, at least if drunken patrons of the Siren's Song could be believed, but there were doubts. Take Jack for example, sure he saturated their conversations with innuendos and invitations to bed, however, Maren had the suspicious certainty that Jack acted the fool for anything and everything in a skirt. Merciful God, she hated to admit it, but watching Jack flirt shamelessly with Elizabeth made her stomach sink like stone! It wasn't any sort of silly jealously; it was the numb realization that Jack, with his teasing flirtations, treated Elizabeth, whom was obviously only a platonic friend, exactly like he treated Maren. This playful insincerity was…was well, almost heartbreaking, certainly heart-wrenching at least. So Maren thusly concluded, that aye, she might be attractive, maybe even pretty, but nothing special, at least nothing special to Jack.

"_Ahoy there, ye flesh mongrel!_" Kristy wafted through the wall.

'Ahoy yerself, ye wraith wrench,' tossing the brush aside, Maren cocked her head curiously, 'Thought ye was intendin' to follow the Turners to bed and play spectator to a night of lover's bliss? What happen'd? Too disapoint'd they aint trader types?'

"_No,_" Kristy shrugged, her stringy hair bouncing, "_Aint in bed yet, Elizabeth hustled off to fetch the maids to draw Jack a bath, but the Cap'n disappear'd into hidin'. She's been shoutin' for him ten minutes solid, still no Jack, not even a hair from his cock. Reckon ye best mosey down there and offer to take his place 'fore they waste all that warm water._"

'Now that be a fine idea,' swinging her hair over her shoulders, Maren stood to leave, 'Lucky ye caught me, I was 'bout to undress for bed.' She was absolutely oblivious to the tricky grin the ghost flashed at her back.

Leaving the light and warmth of her room, Maren walked down the darkened hallway, her steps echoing lonely and wooden from the floor. The curtains were drawn and the moon tinged everything silver, it was delightful. 'Which way I'm head'd?' Maren peered down a passage to her left.

"_Straight on, then hang a right, down a wee bit o' stair then last door to the right 'gain, should be lit up anyhow,_" the phantom floated ahead, guiding Maren. She always enjoyed watching Kristy in the moonlight, she glowed shimmering and tainted violet, eerie and magical. The dead prostitute never looked lovelier, probably even in life.

Before descending the steps, Maren peered over her shoulders, eyes attempting to decipher the shadows. "_What's the bloody hitch?_" Kristy called from the bottom of the stairs.

'Only checkin'.'

"_For bleedin' what?_" a hint of impatience clipped her question.

'Jack,' satisfied, Maren hustled to catch up, 'He's got this nasty habit o' showin' up when he's not want'd.'

Kristy abruptly changed the subject, "_So, ye movin' up in the world, eh? Think o' it, a hobnob, snob, stick-up-yer-arse, bathtub! Me littl' Pet's becomin' quite the refin'd young lady! Aye, this is the life, no tuff 'bout it,_" she erupted in a contented sigh.

'Hot water and scent'd soap galore! I swears, when I recieves me split o' Romulus' fortune, first thing we purchase is a bona fide bathtub, porcelain and tile, the whole pie,' blissfully, Maren blabbed on down the hallway, 'Aye and chocolate and champagne and servants and satin dresses and silk sheets and milkin' cows…did I forget anythin'?'

"_Handsome farm-boys, half clad and all sweaty,_" Kristy pointed to a closed door, candlelight seeping under it, "_That be the washroom._"

Reaching for the doorknob, the barmaid twisted it to enter…

Maren should have noticed the impish smile, cleverly stifled on Kristy's face. She should've seen the white teeth gleam in the dim light. She should've wondered why, if Elizabeth had been shouting for Jack, why hadn't she heard the commotion? But above all, she should've knocked on the door first!

Instead she stepped into the steaming room and came face to face with the most breathtaking sight she'd ever dared to dream of-

Jack Sparrow was naked…

…and Kristy was laughing and laughing!


	14. Sight and Touch

Chapter 14: Sight and Touch 

'And furthermore,' Maren ranted, face flushed while her fingers tore at her corset, 'I swear, God as me witness, that if you ever, EVER, even fathom such a cruel, vindictive, connivin',' flustered with words and her stubborn underclothes, Maren literally growled in frustration, 'and manipulative scheme, I shall personally exorcise ye from here to hell and back! May the devil keep ye, ye treacherous harlot!' She attempted to remove her corset over her head, but unfortunately had failed to properly loosen the laces amidst her temper tantrum. Her shoulders wedged in the stubborn garment and her arms became caught above her head, flailing about and trying to wiggle free. "I'm stuck," she grunted quietly, voice muffled because of the fabric over her face.

"_Can't help ye Pet,_" fiddling her wraith fingers through the sheets, Kristy snickered from the bed, where she perched smugly listening to Maren's lecture on meddling and privacy. Every so often, she would burst into singing giggles, choking merrily on her guffaws. After all, it had been a very fine jest, a very fine jest indeed…

0000000

_Jack Sparrow was naked…_

…_and Kristy was laughing and laughing!_

To state Maren was 'face to face' with him wasn't exactly true, more like face to pert and firm backside'. The nude pirate was examining a shelf of soaps and oils muttering drunkenly to himself, "Bugger it…too sweet…too womanly…too-yuck!" After each exclamation, a bar of soap was tossed haphazardly over his bare shoulders, carelessly landing with a stifled _thump_ on the tile floor behind him. The slurring monologue continued while he searched for a fragrance well suited to his masculine sensibilities, apparently taking no notice of the intruder behind him. "'Take a bath Jack' indeed," he squeaked in falsetto, impersonating Elizabeth, then Maren "'Drop dead Cap'n'…well I'll very well drop her…drop her right on her back I will! See if she be sassin' me then."

Dimly, a tiny part of Maren's mind registered that Jack was referring to her, in a rather derogatory way at that, but the majority of Maren's consciousness was absorbed in the divine masterpiece presented to her. The steam from the hot water created a surreal atmosphere, foggy and dreamlike, obscuring her view enough to tease, yet permitting enough sight to tantalize. His skin glistened and sparkled copper, both from sweat and the steam. Careless hair fell over broad shoulders, clinging to the wet surface and one drop of moisture pooled then fell, running down his back. Hungrily, Maren's eyes followed its trail, gliding along his slanting spine. Jack was built deceptively lean, but Maren saw the tapered muscles staunchly defined under the smooth skin. Obviously, Jack was much stronger then he appeared. How many enemies had fallen victim to underestimating the captain's physical process? Maren was reminded of Jack's tussle with Will and shivered when the memory of his athleticism sparked an overwhelming desire in her belly.

Jack's back, which was hairless contrary to his first turtle-escape tale, tapered to slim hips, enticing as the serpent in Eden had appeared to Eve. Clenching her inching palms, Maren suppressed the ancient reflex to grasp him by those sculpted hips, but was completely helpless to resist the blush that warmed her blood when her eyes locked upon his muscled rump. The naïve virgin had never quite understood the sexual attraction to the backside, but praise the Lord, Jack's ripe flesh, taunt and tan, had converted her. What would it be like to grasp him by those ripened globes? To clutch Jack to her trembling body, feeling every flex and thrust stemming from that delicious arse?

And Jesus forgive, those thighs! Tight like steel, hard as granite, not a hint of dimple fat or hanging flab, but utter physical perfection. Now this was a territory of the male structure that Maren had often fantasized about, secretly in her darkest desires, kissing and caressing that soft plane of skin. To her, a man's thigh must represent thrilling dangers, tasty and teasing, the last frontier before the peak of the mountain, the male sex laying in wait.

But that specific and most exciting part of the anatomy, she could not see, because Jack was still inspecting the shelf of toiletries, his back to the door, "Crap…_thump_… bloody bath…_thump_…smells like rose shit to me…_thump_…oooh, what's this one?" Noticing the tattoos etched in various spots upon his golden skin, Maren squinted, hoping to decipher their depiction, but to no avail. The tattoos remained blurry in the steamy bathroom.

Scanning down his form once more, Jack's knees, calves, and ankles were slim like a horse, nigh, a stallion! Almost quaking with the potential of speed and dexterity coursing through those long stems. The very thought of how those brawny legs would feel, entwined with hers, supporting her, trapping her, made Maren's knees weak. Pinned under Jack, totally at his mercy, overpowered by his sheer strength, his dominating presence, that scathing tongue robbing her senseless…oh, god!

"Close the door luv, ye lettin' in a draft," Jack called over his shoulder, not even bothering to stop his soap inspection to address her.

Horrified, Maren jumped in surprise, he'd noticed her! A lump the size of merry old England lodged in her throat and she paled a sickly shade of green. No Peeping Tom or Voyeur Victor could ever comprehend the immense embarrassment that washed over her, chilling her face in shock. She was about to become the first human being ever to die of sheer humiliation alone! With a hasty fumbling at the doorknob, Maren squeaked, "Sorry!" and swiftly slammed the door shut, leaving Jack in silence.

"That's very interestin'," quirking a flirtatious eyebrow, Jack sniffed another perfumed soap and smirked, quite satisfied with both the scent and himself. In the distance, he heard Maren's clumsy footsteps run up the stairs. He let her go, for the moment at least. First things first, bath time!

"Soddin', daft, damn thing," Maren struggled, her head and shoulders jammed in her corset, "Get off me!" Gradually worming her arms downward, Maren managed to peak her head through, hair messy and razzled. Her cheeks were red from the crowded exertion, not to mention her dwindling temper.

Immediately after fleeing from the washroom and a naked Jack Sparrow, Maren had sprinted straight through the darkened hallways and headlong into the security of her bedroom, locking the door soundly behind her. There she paused in desperate denial, praying that in some miraculous way the recent events, both Jack's delicious nudity and the retching embarrassment, would be wiped mercifully from her memory. Needless to say, she was both disappointed and grateful with reality. Breathing heavily with her back leaning against the door, she took a few more minutes to regain her composure.

After which she bestowed upon Kristy the most fuming tirade of her existence. Twenty minutes of bitching and moaning, hissing and ranting, screaming and threatening, but luckily, Maren's anger burned like paper, bright and hot, while bless-fully quick and tapering. The livid scolding was now dwindling to a pissy lecture after Maren realized that chipping that grin off of Kristy's face would be near impossible, the ghost was just too damned pleased with herself to be bothered by Maren's niggling indignation.

So here the barmaid was, undressing for bed and trapped in her underclothes. She snorted as she heaved the garment up one more time, succeeding in popping the corset off. Huffing in triumph, Maren removed her shift. 'Really Kristy,' scolding and searching for her nightgown at the same time, Maren hunched over the bureau drawer, 'Did ye ever stop to think o' the consequences? What if Jack had taken that as some sort o' 'invitation, eh? I be fortunate to have escap'd there with me virtue intact!'

Again, Kristy giggled, her phantom hand trying to smother the laughter in her mouth.

'I be serious, Kristy. Some blokes might have tried somethin' a tad more _forceful_,' locating her new nightgown, Maren threw it over her head and commenced flattening the collar out, 'I'm just lucky that Jack is a better pirate then most.'

"_That be for damn sure,_" Kristy ran a suggestive tongue over her bottom lip.

Patience snapping, Maren threw her hands on her hips and cocked her head, 'That's it, out!' she pointed severely at the door. 'No more o' yer perversion tonight, no more demented tricks o' disgusting innuendos, I'm not in the mood! Yer drivin' me bloody bonkers!' She hoisted her nose so high in the sir that Kristy could see up her nostrils, then indignantly turned her back on the ghost to finish fastening her nightgown in the mirror.

"_Well, well,_" stomping upward, Kristy straightened her bony shoulders and stood to her full height, which was impressively tall if one ignored how gangly thin she was, "_Lookie who gots a bug up the arse and ice up the twat!_" Maren puffed up, but Kristy cut her off,"_Fine, I know when I'm not want'd. I shall just take me and me debauchery elsewhere then…perhaps the Turners have start'd their night tumble._" Unwillingly, a smile creeped over her lips and Maren was relieved that Kristy wasn't really angry.

'So…have fun then,' Maren conceded, grudgingly returning that smile, no sour feelings between the two.

"_Believe me, I will,_" patting down her wispy brown hair, she purposely strode through the wall, queenly regal in her determination. Yet was not gone two seconds before sticking her head back in, "_By the way,_" she said conversationally, face carefully masked blank, "_ye got yerself a visitor._" Kristy's head disappeared again, too quickly for Maren to ask her to elaborate.

'What ye say?' confused brows knotted in curiosity, Maren went to the door and opened it briskly, intending to call out after the spirit, but Kristy was not what she found…

Kneeling, with arms raised to where the doorknob should have been and lockpick held between his right thumb and index finger, Jack felinely blinked up at Maren, perplexed at her sudden replacement of the door he'd been unlocking only a moment prior. Not surprisingly, Jack's first action after bathing was to reapply his kohl. "Hello," he stated simply, realizing he'd been caught red-handed. Grinning a broad pseudo-innocent smile, the pirate palmed the lockpick and in a flash, the thieving tool was safely hidden in his cuff, "Lovely weather we've been havin', eh?"

Aghast mouth hanging agape, Maren gasped, "Yer breakin' into me room!"

"I most certainly am not, absolutely ridiculous! How dare you madam, I be insult'd!" standing, Jack loomed ominously over Maren's smaller stature and for an instant, Maren wondered if she had genuinely insulted the pirate captain. But then Jack's demeanor returned to 'normal', elbows cocking his twirling hands up and figure swaggering in a drunken sway, the leering in his eyes and gold in his smile twinkled, "See?" he dismissively gestured at the doorknob, "Nothin's _broken_ per say, just a good ole fashion'd lockpickin', savvy?"

"Ye know perfectly well what I mean," Maren crossed her arms protectively over her chest, "Supposin' it ne'er occurr'd to ye to try knockin'?"

"Ye did'n knock," retorting, his voice was low and eyes half-lidded, only the tiniest hint of a smirk graced his features.

Blood rushed to her cheeks and Maren's skin flamed bright red. Stupidly, she had hoped Jack would act the gentleman and pretend the whole 'washroom incident' had never happened. What a futile wish that had been! Biting nervously on her lip, she was at an absolute loss at how tempting she now appeared to Jack, flesh rose-red from her blush, eyes dark and downcast. Immediately, Jack reached out to embrace her, crooking his head at an angle in anticipation of a passionate kiss, but Maren stepped away from him. "Ahoy there Cap'n," she retreated backwards further into the room, hands holding him off, "Listen, that was'n me fault back there, was'n even me idea. 'Twas Kristy, all right? She was playin' a littl' prank on me…ur, on _us_ I guess. I did'n know ye were," clumsily she faltered, "in there. She fool'd me!" She repeated herself, desperate to make Jack believe her, "_Fool'd_ me! Total accident on me part."

"Ah," sighing his exaggerated understanding of the situation, Jack stepped through the doorway and pointedly shut the door behind him, "Well that was most pirate-y 'o ye, Kristy. Very funny too, I applaud ye."

"She's not here," Maren glared at Jack's fingers fondling the doorknob. "Lock that door and ye're a dead man, Jack Sparrow," she added sharply.

Reluctantly his hand fell away, his ego somewhat bruised by her harsh tongue and lack of 'captain'. "Refresh me memory, Maren me luv," he avenged himself, nonchalantly examining his white fingernails and was only a tad surprised to find them actually clean, "Was it twenty seconds or maybe round half-a-minute that ye were _accidentally_ ogglin' at me buck naked bum?" Biting a cuticle, he animatedly shrugged, "Me, I count'd thirty meself, but I always be countin' seconds too fast, so…"

Jack's victory was tenfold sweeter when Maren flustered, stuttering and speechless. "I…but…well 'tis…um, 'twas more like ten seconds…at the very most," she snapped back lamely; however, she gracefully regained her temperamental composure, "So do'n be flatterin' yerself, Cap'n Sparrow." Brusquely, Maren approached the bureau and grabbed her robe, "Now," thrusting her arms into the sleeves, "Unlessen there be somethin' proper ye want from me, and I mean proper in the highest possible standard o' the word, ye can just mosey that tattooed arse o' yers out that door."

"Believe it o' not," Jack gushed, pleasantly flattered by the reference to his decorated rump, "I need yer help, please."

His sincere appeal was so unexpected that Maren, taken slightly aback, nodded mutely with only a smidgeon of suspicion evident.

"It's," muttering to himself, Jack struggled to articulate his problem, "Ye see…I'm…not as-how to put it correctly? Let's see…um," and here Jack spoke the next word so reluctantly, Maren barely caught it, " as _young_ as littl' William is, savvy?"

"What?" bewildered, she vacantly stared at him, totally lost.

He attempted again, "Well, Will is…still, so bloody…he be twenty ye see, in his prime really." Hastily, Jack attached, "Not to insinuate that I'm past me prime by any stretch o' the imagination. Well, I mean…ye saw me buff-side yerself, right? Fine strong, vibrant, if not quite youthful anymore, physique. I can hold me own. Wouldn't ye agree?"

Another silent and extremely puzzled nod came from Maren.

"O' course!" rallying a bit, he gibbered onward, "Aye, I be just as strappin' now as when I was a lad o' Will's age, no difference whatsoever…maybe even a tad more ton'd if I do say so meself."

Maren interrupted, "Jack?"

"Aye?"

"What's the bleedin' point?"

Opening his mouth, Jack changed his mind and shut it, only to give in and open it again on a second thought. He looked like a suffocating fish, a handsomely charming suffocating fish, but still a fish nonetheless. Surrendering his pride, Jack confessed, "I pull'd a muscle in me back when I was tusslin' with Will this mornin'."

Finally, Maren thought she understood, "Oh."

"At first, me back was a littl' uncomfortable is all, but I've been on it all damn day and I wo'n get a wink o' sleep tonight, unless some beautiful barmaid works the crick out for me, So, if ye do'n mind, I was wonderin' if ye might help me, give it a bit o' a rub, eh? " he beseeched her with an expression so imploringly pathetic, Maren felt a lump in her throat.

"Ye want a back rub?" those blue eyes rolled heavenward, "Christ's sake and all that be holy, why didn't ye just say so?" Tugging his sleeve, she guided him to the plush rug in front of the dwindling fireplace, "Sit down, ye big baby."

"Oh goody!" Jack lowered himself down with only minor difficulty and a small grimace of discomfort. His hands traveled to the hem of his un-tucked shirt, ready to lift it off over his head.

"Shirt stays on," grabbing him by the wrist, Maren sat down next to him and glowered, "o' ye goes out!"

Holding his hands out in surrender, Jack shrugged, "No insult intend'd, no insult intend'd, just reckon'd it might be makin' yer task a bit easier is all." Under his breath, he muttered, "Not like it's nothin' ye have'n seen anyhow." When Maren shot him a deadly glare, Jack batted his eyes innocently.

"Lay down," Maren sighed, rolling up her sleeves as Jack complied, his face turned away from her and towards the dieing embers of the fire. What a picture it was! Jack spread out before her, barefoot in only his trousers and white shirt, smelling clean with hair still damp. Hammering her resolve, she tentatively brushed Jack's heavy hair. it tinkled quietly, off his shoulders to expose his arched neck. Thankful her hands weren't shaking, Maren began to knead the warm flesh at the base of his skull, working her way lower.

What sounded disbelievingly like a purr, fell from Jack's lips and he sensually groaned, "Not that I be complainin' mind,-ahh, yes…that's real nice that is,-but me actual malady is a fair degree more southwards."

"Trust me Jack," she grunted, molding the skin at the base of his neck and gradually spreading to the expanse of his fine shoulders, "Me pa had wicked-bad back problems and, believe me I know, if ye don't work all them muscles right loose the whole damn thing is shot to hell in a manner o' hours."

"Ooo," another appreciative moan leaked from the pirate's mouth as Maren hardily squeezed the meaty flesh inside the shoulder blades, "Keep this up, lass, and Jack'll trust ye anythin'." Unsuccessfully, Maren attempted to stay her concentration at the job at hand, but the heated feel of the body below was a constant and very enticing distraction. Unbidden, yet not entirely unwanted, visions of Jack's nude form in the washroom plagued Maren's struggling thoughts. Her heart hammered in her chest, unable to banish the realization that she was touching that same body now. She felt muscles ripple as they tensed and relaxed, she felt the steady vibration of his distant heartbeat, and she felt the hidden angles and curves to his structure. Suddenly, Maren's mouth became very dry and she tried to divert her attention to another topic.

"So," she asked curiously, "how old are you anyway?"

Immediately, Jack stiffened under her hands and Maren stilled her ministrations, confused at his reaction. "Not a day over twenty-nine," he spoke quickly.

Amusedly puzzled by this enigma of rouges, Maren continued to rub, laughing, "Thought only woman lied 'bout their age."

"Aye, well, woman and pirates," conceding, Jack grumbled, but not painfully, when Maren hit a particularly tender spot. Hearing him, Maren gave the location just inside his spine and below the blade a lasting knead. "Sweet siren, woman, _gaaaahd_ ye're good," he began hissing, but finished in another pleased groan. It did not escape Maren's uncomfortable notice that Jack's vocal affirmations were becoming more and more orgasmic sounding. She blushed.

"Ah yes, Maren," conversationally, Jack mentioned as if the topic had just appeared in his mind, "Been meanin' to have a talk with ye-oui, do that thing with ye fingers 'gain, aye like that."

Complying, Maren aggressively attached the area in the middle of Jack's ribs with loose pinches. "Talk 'bout what?" she had to speak up to make herself heard over Jack's appreciative groans.

He sighed offhandedly, "'Bout ye and Kristy mostly."

"Pardon?"

"'Bout yer history and whatnot, mmmh," he punctuated with a moan, "For example, when and why ye'd ye leave London?"

Maren's pause was too lengthy, "Ten years 'go. Pa was lookin' for a better life 'broad."

"Jeeesussss…lovely, keep that up," he purred to her, while Maren massaged the tight muscles at the spine and under the ribcage. "Now luv, littl' gels what tell naughty lies do'n go to heaven," in a sickly sing-song, he warned.

"But Jack-" Maren attempted.

"Ah-uh," stopping her, Jack lifted a hand off of the rug so a finger could waggle at her, "Men do'n go to Tortuga for better lives, especially with young daughters…oh, watch for tickles sweetheart, wee sensitive there," Maren barely suppressed the temptation to tickle him to distraction, "Men go to Tortuga to, one, buy things o' two, sell things."

"O' three," softly, she whispered, "to hide."

"Oh yes," Jack considered carefully, "to hide. Quite right." Waiting patiently for her to continue, Jack finally prompted, ever so gently, "What were ye hidin' from I wonder?"

Dully, Maren's hands stilled on Jack's back and her voice became a narrative monotone, almost like she was mimicking one of her trances. In a rare occurrence, Jack remained silent to listen to her, "Was getting' a name for meself in London. Start'd on the streets, just a littl' sideshow. Guessin' what be in peoples' pockets and other such nonsense for a few shillin's. Then I start'd to…_develop_ and suddenly, a lot o' folk were comin' to see me, mostly the poor, some middle classes. But 'twas the rich I should o' stay'd clear of. All at once, I 'came the newest trend, sort o' speak. Them hobnobs consider'd it fashionable entertainment to have a séance party with yers truly as the freak attraction. Ye'd be surpris'd how many o' them buggerin' fools did'n even believe me to be a real medium, yet they still hir'd me. Aint that the bull's cock?"

"Anyway, one night, I got in deep trouble. Me own fault really. Should've wait'd for Kristy, she be searchin' the house for haunts, but I couldn't stand one more beratin' remark o' snide comment from them pompous arses! I had to shut them up. The lady o' the manor, her brother was missin' and she want'd me help…so I found him at the bottom o' a lake with his throat slash'd and feet still bound. Murder'd for profit, murder'd by his sisters', husband who sat next to her, holdin' her hand. So, I told them all that-er, rather _he_ told them all that through me. Could'n stop him without Kristy."

"Oh shit," Jack mumbled under his breath.

Laughing bitterly, Maren focused again on massaging Jack's stiff back and he erupted in more pleasant purrs, "By the grace o' God, we escap'd in the chaos that night, but 'fore the sun even rose, they were searchin' for us. Cook'd up some bogus charge on me pa, makin' him a fugitive when they were really lookin' for me. Luckily, we spent the savin's we'd made and board'd a trade ship that very mornin' towards Tortuga. Me pa had an old chum there, Old Buckman, and he ow'd Pa a favor. I've ne'er return'd to London since."

Jack turned his head on the rug to better stare at Maren, thoughtfully inquiring, "Ye not us'd yer _gift_ for profit either?"

"Ye would ask that," tsk-ing, Maren gave Jack a punishing pinch to his side and ignored his irritated yipe, "Me pa and I 'greed to ne'er let anyone know o' me _powers_ 'gain. But sometimes his drinkin' bill, o' rent, o' food, o' doctor's charges would get on top o' us and I'd be forced to risk me secret. I'd sneak off the to cemeteries in disguise and wait for a funeral, folk that can 'fford a funeral can usually spare some change, offer them a message from their dearly depart'd for money, convince them if they requir'd some convincin', and _tadda_-we were ne'er homeless and ne'er hungry."

"So that's how ye managed to be the only woman in Tortuga who was'n workin' the streets," Jack mused somewhat mournfully, then moaned, "Aye, Maren, that's the bastard knot right there, have no mercy on that son o' a bitch-ouch!"

It was a very nasty knot, Maren agreed, located on his lower back, around the left kidney. Under her questing hands, the stubborn cramped muscle refused to loosen, hard as steel. Time for drastic measures, "All right Jack, relax and breathe big deep breaths now." Placing her elbow over the villainous cramp, she propped herself up on her knees and leaned her fist atop the other. All her weight would now be centered on that one elbow.

"Ahhh-OUCH!" Jack's head shot up from the floor and he bared his teeth in pain as Maren dug her bony elbow into the knot, rotating it back and forth, "Christ, get off me…ahhh…that hurts!"

"Quiet Jack," Maren growled, viciously jabbing at his back, "and lie still! It has to hurt if it's to heal, as Kristy always says. I promise, it'll start to feel good real soon!"

Good! This woman was crazy! What was only moments ago a distressing ache was now a piercing pain racking through his body and centering on that blasted spot under the insane medium's elbow! How was this supposed to help? "Oui, ah…quit it already…damn that smarts!" Jack snapped from under Maren, but was ignored. "Ah, ah, ah," he hissed, "ouch, damn it!" still sore, "Fuck me…that…ouch!" even more painful, "Piss off…Christ stop, for the luv o'-ahhh!" the throbs of electric suffering were swiftly mounting into just plain _unbearable_, "Ah, damn, Maren…fuck…oui, ye sadist..AHH!" and the damn broke. "God, YES!" the blood rushed through the suffocating muscles like parched streams, "Aye…do'n stop luv-pleeeaase! Oh that's…god, so good!" Though Jack's back went limp, his neck still arched high and his fists were clamping the rug for dear life, "Mmmh, harder luv…yes, aye, yeah…right, ah, mmmh, ooh-FUCK, ye got IT!"

Abruptly, Jack's entire body collapsed, leaving him breathless with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. He was deliciously exhausted and inexplicably satisfied. 'Did I just get laid?' he wondered vaguely.

"See?" cooing sweetly, naively oblivious to the sheer realms of pleasure Jack had just experienced, Maren petted the curve of his spine, up and down, up and down, like stroking a large cat, "Feel better?"

"Mmm, uh," Jack groaned his affirmation into the carpet, purring his vocal applause. Beneath Maren's caress, Jack shivered, his muscles and back relaxed to the point of rubber. The next sentence he drawled out was measured and precise, zapping most of his depleting strength, "Ye. Be. Amazin'." Here he turned his face towards her, a tiny flush graced his cheeks.

Maren's responding blush made Jack moan yet again as she smiled, "Thank ye-."

Kristy's panicked shouts cut her off, "_Brother-bugger, son o' a nun, damn it all!_" The ghost exploded through the wall, eyes wide, screaming, "_Brit soldiers, by God! Dozen o' so! Comin' up the yard and head'd here!_"


	15. Redcoats

_Chapter Fifteen: The Redcoats_

"_Brit soldiers, by God! Dozen o' so! Comin' up the yard and head'd here!_"

Jack knew immediately that something was amiss when Maren's gaze darted upward, gasping in shock. "Do'n tell me, let me guess," his palms were haltingly held up, "Some daft emergency requires our immediate and absolute distraction, thereby, yet 'gain preventin' me from fornicatin' with ye."

"Aye, emergency all right," she added, glaring, "and we were _not_ goin' to fornicate!"

"Ye tell yerself that dear," he muttered then begrudgingly got off the floor to stand, "What's the disaster this time? Possession? Barbossa? I do'n look like a skeleton 'gain, do I? Honestly, I do'n see what all the fuss was 'bout, fanci'd it a good look for me really. It has a certain style one must concede." To prove his statement, Jack struck a careless pose, hands on hip and hip cocked to the side.

Frustrated, Maren barked, "Kristy says a dozen English soldiers be skippin' up the walkway this very moment, so get off it already and do somethin'!"

If ever there was an occasion that Jack didn't need to be told twice!

Swearing under his breath, he roughly grabbed Maren by the wrist and pulled her along behind him, out of the room and into the hallway. She found herself dragging behind his hurried strides before he tossed her towards the Turners' bedroom, "Wake up the whelp and whelpett, tell them to hurry 'fore this gets ugly."

Flustered and breathless, Maren called out after his retreating figure, "But where are ye goin'?"

"To fetch me pistol and sword," he bellowed over his shoulder and disappeared down the hall. Maren felt this statement to be so ominous that had a well-timed thunderclap boomed in the distance Maren would not have been the least bit surprised, but the clear Caribbean sky was contrarily clear.

However, the sudden explosion of violent rapping on the front door more than made up for the atmospheric lack of dramatics. From outside, Maren could hear the animated shouting of many men. They had arrived and time was running out fast!

"Whelp-I mean, Will!" Maren skidded to a halt at the bedroom door and bombarded the solid wood with her fists, "Elizabeth! Wake, up hurry! We got trouble!"

Muffled shuffling and mutterings were all that answered her at first. Ever resilient, Kristy stuck her head through the door and laughed, "_Thems a tad busy._" She whistled, impressed, and waggled her eyebrows while, Maren gulped nervously, embarrassed for all their sakes'.

Finally, Elizabeth raised her voice, it was a tad breathless to tell the truth, "Is this an absolute necessity, Maren? We are…preoccupied at the moment." In the distance, Maren heard Jack stomping down the stairs, colorful curses exhaled as if they were breaths of air.

Her blue eyes rolled, sarcasm dripping "Shall I tell the Brit soldiers breaking down the door to come back when ye've finish'd yer snog then?"

"Soldiers?" Will's clipped tones rose up followed by a mumbled vulgarity that even the bawdy Kristy was impressed with. The thumping of his hastened bare-footsteps sounded on the wood floor and the door was thrown open, revealing the master of the house nude from the waist up with a satin sheet wrapped in mock-modesty around his vibrant hips. This young man could have been sculpted from the marble of Michelangelo, he's physique was so extraordinarily perfect. Screeching in excitement, Kristy threw her arms in the air and cheered.

Startled by the appearance of yet another naked man, (two delicious specimens in one night, what luck) Maren squeaked and covered her face. Through the gaps in her fingers, the red of her face glowed as bright as a star. "Aye, soldiers, in a tizzy too," her muffled voice hid behind her hands.

"Goodness' sake Will, at least put on your trousers," behind him, Elizabeth spoke, also donning a satin sheet to cover herself.

"What do they want?" Will pressed, his eyes severe.

For a moment, Maren was about to scathingly retort that the answer should be blatantly obvious enough to any fool, however, on second thought, Will seemed to bring up an excellent, if somewhat a very simple, point. "Kritsy, what _are_ they here for?" speaking outloud, Maren ponderingly cocked her head.

"_How the devil am I suppos'd to know?_" defensively, the ghost flailed her fists about, "_I be dead! Not like a can mosey on over to one o' them buggerin' blokes and say, 'Pardon me, me good man, but may I ask as to the purpose o' this fine visit?' Bloody hell, what ye expect from me, a written inquiry?_"

"Oooh…shit," Maren mouth struggled with her expressive words as her mind struggled indecisively with what course of action to take. Holding up her finger to the sheet-wearing Will and Elizabeth, she hastily decided, "Jack might be fixin' to do somehtin' really stupid and I should probably go and stop him." With a quick nod goodbye, Maren sprinted across the hall, down the stairs, and to the landing, staring skeptically at the quaking door before her, which shook from the force pounding beyond it.

Suddenly, Jack appeared dressed in his full regalia, effects secure about his person. "We might be escapin' out the cellar," he glared pointedly and resentfully at the door, "Did Kristy perhaps mention if the redcoats had us surround'd yet?"

"Jack, I do'n think they be here for ye."

"What?" in an odd way, Jack felt his pride bristle, ergo he snipped, "Do'n be daft woman, what the hell else would they be here for?"

Maren snipped right back, "Damn'd if I know, but I figure, ifen _you_ were the one huntin' down the most notorious pirate presently sailin' the seven seas," grinning pleasantly, Jack laid a flamboyant hand upon his chest and blinked innocently, "would ye not attempt a more _stealthy_ approach? Bangin' on that door for eternities on end aint exactly what I'd be callin' a 'surprise attack'!"

Stillness, except for the incessant shouts and pounding, reined as Jack absorbed this new information.

"_Oh yeah…good point._"

"Good point," Jack and Kristy nodded enthusiastically, unaware they did so in unison.

Suddenly, the chorus of chaos outside the oak door ceased and an eerie silence rang out only to be interrupted by a genteel voice, authoritative and prominent, "This is Commodore Norrington of the King's Navy. Open this door, I say!"

With grand resolve, Jack definitively drew his pistol and aimed smiling at the door. "No!" hissing, Maren tugged his arm down, "Ye bloody lunatic, ye _want_ to hang from the gallows come mornin'? Let me handle this Jack, they do'n know me."

"Ye?" incredulously, Jack's eyebrows shot up, wrinkling his forehead, "What ye aimin' to do, eh? Serve 'em drinks o' contact their dead mothers?"

"I'm aimin' to fuckin' _talk_ to them Jack! Ask them what all this," she waved frantically at the door, "is 'bout!"

"O' perhaps," Jack grabbed her when Maren attempted to make a start towards the door and tugged her roughly back. Swiftly, Maren was subjected to the _stare_, "ye might be plannin' on turnin' ole Cap'n Sparrow over to the authorities and reaping the generous rewards."

Puffing up with indignation, Maren bit, "Ye insinuatin' that I'd turn traitor."

"Well, 'fresh me memory Maren-me-dove," Jack's hands danced about his head, "was'n it this very mornin' ye point'd a pistol at me head and later escap'd to alert the guard of the Pearl's presence."

"That was 'fore!"

"'Fore what exactly?"

"'Fore-," Maren was dangerously close to divulging her affection for him and screaming at the top of her lungs 'fore I lov'd ye', but somehow contained her composure, "-'fore I made me own choice and gave me word."

"I'm not big on faith, luv, why should I trust ye with me life?" this was a rhetorical question and, honestly, Jack hadn't expected any sort of answer.

"'Cause…ye owe me a backrub," and, to add a perfect punctuation to her collateral, Maren tugged Jack down by his collar to hungrily meet his lips in a promising kiss. It might have been short in duration, because the infernal knocking had commenced again, but the kiss was no less zealous or passionate. Their mouths met solidly like a punch to the face and Jack was contentedly startled to feel her witty tongue swipe deliciously against his own. Still, it was all too brief.

"Now hide," she broke away from him, elated at the unveiled desire that _she_ had flamed in Jack. A dark continence, almost menacing in its sheer control, clouded over the pirate's face and slowly the most sinister of his smiles bloomed. Yet he said nothing, only playfully swatted at her backside and jogged into the cover of the sitting room.

Waiting until Jack was secreted from sight, Maren then walked purposely toward the front door. Surprisingly, she found herself calm in spite of her situation. After all, she had a lust-mad pirate to contend with, in comparison, English soldiers didn't seem all that threatening. She raised her hand to unbolt the door…

_Click…_

The door banged open, barely missing a collision with Maren, but that was all right, because Norrington's callous arm pushed her rudely out of the way instead. "Awaken your master and lady, immediately," was all he said to her, rather gruffly, while he strode self-assured into the Turner household. Then he ordered out to the soldiers behind him, "Inside men, hurry." There was a clumsy bustle at the entryway, which was suddenly and absolutely interrupted.

_Smack!_

The redcoats gaped frozen and Jack from his vantage point behind the drapes snorted, swallowing his laughter.

Maren's dainty hand was still raised, almost anticipating another reason to assault the Commodore again and, on Norrington, the red mark of her hand was blazing brightly upon his pale cheek. Sure, Maren could have punched him. Punches hurt more and do more damage, anyone would agree, but slaps aren't about pain…slaps are about _embarrassment_, which stings better then any cheek.

"How.Dare.Ye." gritting her white teeth, Maren seethed at Norrington, who stood mutely shocked with an unbelieving hand held to his smarting cheek. Truthfully, this was the fist time the Commodore had even noticed the robust blonde on any real conscious level. He gave her his undivided attention, "Who do ye think ye are! Marchin' on in here like ye own the place, while the Turners are still in bed! The nerve! And then to shove me aside, like some…some…_thing_ that got no importance! Is that how ye treat a lady! I bet ye call yerself a gentleman too, ha! I have half-a-mind to report ye to yer superiors, ye villain. Where ye get off on orderin' me 'bouts anyway? For yer information, I be a guest here, not a servant! Aye, but yer the type to judge a poor gel, are'n ye? Think 'cause I do'n speak like the bloomin' Queen that I do'n got no class, eh? Well, bugger ye! Just 'cause I aint be holdin' no money, do'n make me any less o' a lady! I demand respect too and if ye ever, _ever_ lay a hand upon me person univit'd 'gain, I swear to God Almighty as me witness that ye and yer shovin' hand will very soon part!"

All was quiet as Maren fumed, panting after her tirade. Norrington tried several times to formulate an apology, but found himself distracted by the fierce sparkle in those blue eyes and the hypnotic rise and fall of her heaving bust under her robe. Shamefully he averted his eyes, conceding that the young woman was right about his inept gentility. What sort of gentleman cast coveting eyes upon a woman-lady, he corrected his thoughts-in her nightclothes?

Finally the silence was broken by an inhuman moan pouring from the doorway. Confused and brows knotted, Maren stepped around Norrington to discover the source of such an ungodly noise.

Four men were haphazardly carrying a distressed officer. His face was deathly pale and in spite of the breezy cool night, the suffering man was sweating rivulets. Confused, he blinked at his surroundings before grimacing like the devil himself was scourging me and crying out in pain. The source of this pitiful fellow's suffering was a broken leg, so mauled it swayed boneless.

"Forgive me," the Commodore finally managed to speak, when Maren stifled a squeaking gasp with her hand, eyes widening in panic, "but there was an accident not far from here and in concern for my man's health, I was brutish and offensive towards you. I apologize."

Her gaze traveled from Norrington to the confused soldiers standing uncertainly in the entryway. "Well do'n just sit there," she cried out, "Bring him in for mercy's sake! Imagine, wastin' time listenin' to me babble when a poor bloke's sufferin'. Come, come, set him on the couch and careful, mind his leg!" Muttering onward, she flustered about clearing the way for the struggling men. Behind her, about six more soldiers filed in, peering concerned into the living room at their comrade in pain.

"What is happening here?" from the top of the stairs, a disappointingly dressed Will boomed, bounding down. Elizabeth followed behind him, securing the tie of her dressing robe. Several maids and the cook had also awakened and appeared sheepishly into the room.

"Mister Turner," stepping away from his wounded officer, Norrington approached the blacksmith, "Lieutenant Upton was thrown from his horse up the road about half a mile from your household and now bares several serious brakes in his left leg. I've sent a rider to fetch a doctor, however, due to the extensive damage Upton has received, it would be incredibly hazardous to move him anymore then necessary. Please friends, I trusted I could bring him here to await treatment."

"Of course," Elizabeth said, huffing prettily when her eyes fell upon the mangled leg, "Oh poor man! Rose, Annabel," she addressed the maids, "Fetch a pair of scissors, bandages, and heat some water. When the doctor arrives, retrieve him anything else he should require." They scattered away like flighty cats, graceful but very quick.

"Brandy, for the pain," snapping his fingers, Will hustled towards the spirits cabinet.

"Nay, not brandy Will," Maren also approached the liquor cabinet and recited a famous saying that every barmaid knows by heart as is her oath, matter-a-factly, "Brandy for headaches, whiskey for bad teeth, port for stomachaches, red wine for weak hearts, vodka for hunger, rum for memory, ale for exhaustion, mead for depression, _gin_ for broken bones, and beer for living and breathing!" She had counted down on her fingers and finished winded.

"Umm…so gin then?" uncertainly, Will procured a bottle of gin.

"I'll have not of it," the Lieutenant lifted his head with a great struggle, "'Tis Satan's tonic, sir."

"Come now," attempting to speak reason, Norrington laid a gentle hand upon the man's shoulder, "it will help the pain, Upton."

"And what of my soul, Commodore?" moaning terribly, he gritted his teeth against the hurt, "What perverse destruction will that sinful drink inflict?"

As a way of explanation, one of the soldiers that had carried Upton addressed the Turners and Maren in an upraised voice, "The Lieutenant's got a Puritan streak in him somethin' awful. Never touches drink, not a drop."

"Regardless," Norrington's posture was perfect and straight, "In a matter of minutes Doctor Dobsin will arrive to set that bone correctly and if you, in a hysteria of suffering, flail or fight…well, I myself have no medical education, however, I am quite certain that the difference between relaxation and tension in this situation might also be the difference between the hope of walking again or utter crippling."

"If it be the Lord's will, so be it."

"Well sod that, 'fore it aint me will!" snatching the bottle from Will, Maren stalked up to Upton who lied weakly prone on the couch. She loomed high and menacing above him, "Now are ye goin' to be reasonable and remember that our Savior, Christ hiself, did turn water to wine for the pleasures of people and have yerself a little nip to save yer leg. O' are ye goin' to be stupid?"

The Lieutenant meekly shrank further down into the plush protection of the cushions he was on, but still shook his head.

"Very well then," she turned on heel and dug around the liquor cabinet for a few tense moments before evidently finding what she was searching for, "Be stupid." In her left hand, Maren clutched the bottle of gin and in her right hand, Maren had a white-knuckled grasp upon a tin funnel. "Mister Turner, Commodore Norrington," approaching the couch, Maren gestured towards Upton, "Secure his arms, please. Ye other blokes, hold down his good leg, thank you." Straight-faced, the men obeyed, keeping a weary and curious eye on Maren. Upton watched her fearfully.

"Here be the skivvy," abruptly, Maren vaulted atop the reclining man and straddled his chest. Her nightgown had risen to show off the lovely curve of her bare calves to petite feet. Every man in the room, both seen and unseen, gasped and dropped their eyes to the pretty peach limbs now revealed to them, before quickly composed themselves to turn their eyes modestly away, encouraged by Elizabeth's glare and warning cough. The hapless Lieutenant tried to scream at her irately, but couldn't on account of the funnel that was swiftly shoved into his mouth. With an iron fist that any tyrant would be envious of, Maren held the man's jaw closed, effectively preventing him from expelling the foreign object. "Ye either swallow o' drown, savvy?" tugging the cork from the gin with her resourceful teeth, she spat it to the floor and began pouring 'the devil's water' directly down his unwilling throat.

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"_Let glory see-er, um be_

_unto thy Lord._

_Let his mercy be upononon…on_

_UPON MEEEEEEE!_"

Apparently, Maren wasn't the only one that succumbed to song when drunk. Presently, the zealot religious Lieutenant Upton was belting out his favorite hymn and occasionally he'd even managed to remember the words correctly.

"_Every day I bless…mmm, thee!_

_I will RAISE! I mean PRAISE!_

_Thy name forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever-._"

"He drank an entire bottle of gin, half the whiskey, and the port has disappeared," Will gazed in awe at the still singing and drinking, the brandy at the moment, Upton and Doctor Dobsin double-checking the immobile leg brace, "Surely the man should be dead by now."

The doctor nodded and Upton squealed in delight as he was hefted up by his comrades by means of a stretcher and escorted outside to an awaiting carriage. Everyone sighed gratefully when his tortuous songs began fading in the distance along with the clip clops of the horses' steps.

Humming to herself, Kristy suddenly cried out in bitter frustration, "_Aaaah, ye cocksucker! That damn'd song is stuck in me head now!_" She attacked her ears and desperately tried to replace the hymn with 'May Done Be the Maiden'.

The other soldiers had been given leave an hour ago when the doctor arrived, so now only Norrington remained. "Thank you again, Mister," he nodded to Will then politely to Elizabeth, causing Maren's senses to prickle at a distant bout of sadness and leaving a dry taste in her mouth, "and Missus Turner. I knew I could depend on your infallible generosity and Christian hospitality this night."

"You are more than welcome," Elizabeth smiled beautifully.

"And please allow me another apology, Miss…"

"Attle," offered Will, having already thought of a lie, "Miss Maren Attle. She is visiting from London for the summer, my late godmother's cousin's niece…a friend from childhood, needless to say."

"Ah, well Miss Attle," bowing slightly, back still perfectly straight, Norrington said to Maren, "Welcome to Port Royal, may she make her first impression better than her Commodore did." Tentatively, he raised his hand to his cheek.

"I be sorry 'bout that, honest sir," Maren fidgeted, "It's just I got a right temper on me, I do."

"Please no apologies," he hurried, "It 'twas better then I deserved. To be truthful, it was an entirely new experience and there is something to be said for new experiences." Finally, the Commodore consented to smile.

"_Oooh! Look who be flirtin' with ye,_" Kristy clapped like an audience.

"I guess as long as ye aint angry."

"Angry? Hardly," taking a slight liberty, Norrington stepped closer to Maren, "I dare think I shall remember this meeting quite fondly. Indeed Miss Attle, if I might be so bold, I shall confess that your bold resourcefulness and brilliant confidence have," he flustered for word, "_inspired_ me this very night."

"_Hey Pet, did he just babble what I think he just babbl'd?_" scratching her head, Kristy added, "_Somethin' 'bout thinkin' o' you while he jacks off tonight?_"

Somehow Maren managed not to laugh while Norrington continued, "And perhaps, with Mister Turner's permission of course," the Commodore indicated Will, "I might call one of these days to tour the naval base and other local sights, if you wish."

Barely audible, but still noticeable to those who were listening for it, the curtains swore, "Ye bastard!" in a slurring drawl.

"I think I would enjoy that very much, thank ye," consciously, Maren ran a hand over her hair.

"Splendid," bowing again, the Commodore bid her farewell and again bade the Turners goodbye. He marched out, shutting the door behind him and that slight, pleased smile still graced his lips.

"Oh Miss Attle!" all three were startle by the sound of an overly falsetto voice, nasally speaking from behind them. Jack had suddenly appeared relaxed and sprawled out on the very couch that Upton had been treated on only minutes prior, his booted feet up on the cushions, "Yer busty resources and bitchin' confrontations inspir'd me to make an absolute git out o' meself." Finishing his unflattering impersonation of the Commodore, Jack drank greedily from the bottle in hand.

"I have located the missing port, darling," pointing at the drink in Jack's hand, Elizabeth and Will exchanged meaningful glances.

"Bah, do'n be like that Jack," Maren was feeling strangely giddy from quite so many manly attentions and openly sat next to Jack's half-reclined body. Neither did she complain nor move when Jack started absently rubbing her knee, "I thought he was sweet."

"Sweet?" he repeated her, skeptically and slightly moody.

Hastily she explained, "Only ye describ'd him as a pompous, ignorant creampuff what was more snob then man. "

"Aye, and he is!"

"No, he's not," Maren gazed off, smiling gently, "he's…sweet."

"Sweet," repeating again, Jack held tenfold more contempt and menace this time, "I did tell ye how he almost had me hang'd, right?"

Ignoring him, Maren yawned and Jack had to swallow his own yawn from blooming. Honestly, Maren's dreamy demeanor had very little do with Norrington and everything to do with Jack's obvious annoyance at the Commodore's flirtations. Was the dread pirate captain jealous? Over her? How enthralling! "Goodnight Jack," she kissed his forehead innocently, but was prevented from pulling away by Jack's hand wrapping around her neck.

"Come Will, bedtime," Elizabeth quickly grabbed Will and hurried up the stairs, blessing them with a little privacy.

"_Mother Mary and Joseph,_" floating up, Kristy trailed behind the Turners, blatantly excited, "_please let them continue their romp!_"

The eyes flashed dangerously as they stared at each other. Deliberately slow, Maren leaned even closer to Jack and tugged the bottle of port out of his hand. She brought the bottle toward her mouth and Jack fixed his glare upon those mauve lips of hers, which wrapped wet and warm around the bottle head as she knocked her head back to gulp, almost more _hungry_ then thirsty. The brief jealousy that had flared as a result of the Commodore's flowery compliments were nothing compared to the scorching envy that Jack felt over that damnable, lucky bottle. Of their own mindless accord, Jack's fingers had progressed from careless patterns at Maren's knees to purposefully caressing her thigh. Nonchalantly, she handed the port back to him, even though Jack would have much preferred it if she had kept drinking, preferably in that same enticing style.

"I _said_, goodnight Jack," Maren whispered sternly, "and do'n bother with pickin' the lock, I'll have a chair shov'd under the doorknob, savvy?" And to Jack's utter shock and complete disappointment, Maren stood up and walked out, hips swaying as she climbed the stairs.

For a while, Jack remained in total denial. She did _not_ just go to bed, _her_ bed, all _alone_. She did _not_ just leave him wanting on the couch! She did _not_ just tease him mercilessly with a bottle of port! Any minute now Maren would return stark naked o' clad in exciting red underwear…any minute now…any time now…really, not kidding this time, any minute now…oh shit.

Jack barely had enough sense to grab a pillow to smother over his face, before screaming and raving at the top of his throat and as hoarse as his voice would allow. His muffled curses echoed in the now empty sitting room and into the hallway.


	16. Poisoned Sleep

Censored: This chapter contains a brief sexual encounter between Barbossa and a prostitute. It is not posted on this site.

Chapter Summary: Jack has a hard time getting to sleep, 'haunted' by visions of Maren. After her earlier possession by Barbossa, Maren receives visions of his life through her dreams. She witnesses the mutiny against Jack, the torture of Bootstrap Bill, and Barbossa's boyhood aboard the Alpha. Why hadn't Jack told her that Barbossa knew Captain Romulus?

Chapter Teaser:

_ Chapter Sixteen: Poisoned Sleep_

Still, Maren held no façade of hope that maybe the nightmares would not come. They always came, ferocious and volatile, after a possession, though the attacking ghost was in no way present. It was as if Maren's 'sight' was cleansing the remains of the intruder from her mind. Unfortunately, like bleeding out an infection, the nightmares were horrible and hurtful. These were the sufferings and dreams of beings that for one reason or another never left this world. They were the last regretful testament to who the ghosts were in life. Who was Barbossa? Whether Maren wished an answer to this morbid question or not, she was going to receive one…

If you wish to read this chapter in its entirety please visit either www. mystifyingdreams .com or www. adultfanfiction .net at your own risk.


	17. A Treat

  
_Chapter Seventeen: A Treat_

_"Barbossa was the Alpha's cabin boy."_

The morning sun shone red rays through the window curtains, dusting the surface of everything an opulent gold. For a long while, Maren sat quietly, dimly aware of waking noises in the house around her, which she disregarded. Suddenly, things were snapping into place. Jack's earlier reference to the cabin boy rose in her memory:

"_I found him forty years after the sinkin' o' the Alpha, sav'd him from a heap o' trouble, he join'd me crew, together we found that bay, and found Cap'n Romulus' grave."_

So that's how that treacherous mutineer was permitted on the Black Pearl, Jack needed him to locate Romulus' lost treasure, but when that didn't happen Barbossa must have remained as part of the crew. 'And that be when the trouble start'd,' Maren thought, recalling the torment and regret she saw in Bootstrap Bill. Sadly, she gazed around his son's house, a testament of Will's successes. Bill would be proud and that was some consolation, at least.

But why hadn't Jack told her?

A female screech of sheer surprise startled Maren from her contemplations. From down the hall and approaching quickly came bustling footsteps, all the while a woman's voice could be heard whining playfully, "Now Cap'n Sparrow, ye know what the Missus said, yer not permitt'd to touch the lady-help anymore. So stop pawin'' at me bum, ye naughty knave ye, o' I shall call upon the Commodore this instant!"

There was a base raspy response that, though was unintelligible, was obviously Jack. In response the flirtatious maid erupted in merry giggles.

Now, it is a common belief that jealousy is a green-eyed little monster, which is absolutely a fallacious fabrication. No indeed, jealousy is neither green nor little nor even a monster. Jealousy is an outright raging-red-Amazonian-bitch! Needless to say, Maren was very, very jealous.

Her fists were white-knuckled, clutching the satin sheets and threatening to tear the gentle fabric apart. The laughter ceased outside her door and there was a tentative knock upon it. "Miss Attle, are ye awake?" that detestably cheery voice inquired, forcing Maren to grind her teeth painfully, lest she start screaming obscenities at the door.

"Ye-esss," Maren hissed back in a grating impression of perkiness.

"Mark me, Cap'n Sparrow, ye best be behavin' yerself!" the maid opened the door and the spiteful medium immediately looked around for something to throw at her head- that is until Maren actually _saw_ the maid. Instead of the bonnie, red-haired vixen that Maren's overactive imagination had conjured up, there flurried in a happy elderly woman of plump girth and grey hair who had two black teeth marring her yellow smile. The barmaid had never felt so stupid and ashamed in her whole life! Humming to herself, the motherly figure carried in a pitcher of hot water and fresh towels to set by Maren's basin.

"Missus Phillips," leaning casually with one arm on the door frame, Jack cooed after the maid, "When are ye goin' to finally leave that brutish husband o' yers and run off with me, eh? O' will ye force me to be kidnappin' ye off to the Black Pearl and be makin' ye me Pirate-Queen?" One kohl eye winked at Maren.

"He aint kiddin', he'll do it," Maren said, earnestly nodding.

"Bah, too old for such foolishness, whiskin' 'way and the like," the maid, Missus Phillips, began throwing the curtains open to let the sunshine in unimpeded. She paused momentarily to dust the windowsills with a convenient rag that appeared from her pocket, "Do ye requirin' help in dressin' Miss Attle?"

Shaking her head, Maren ignored Jack who suggestively fiddled with the fastening to his trousers, "No thank ye, I can manage fine. But last night Miss Swann mention'd a bath?"

"Aye, yes," having finished her quick tidy-up, Missus Phillips clasped her hands together and bobbed her head every time she paused for breath, "Our Annabel's just finish'd scrubbin' the tub down after this one's wash." She stopped to look pointedly at Jack and he puckered his lips into a noisy kiss. Shrugging her round shoulders, the maid gibbered on, "Swear the filth that came off that man there could've grown potatoes. Anyway dear, fancy ye should mention a bath, 'cause it were'n no two minutes 'go that I was havin' me a chat with the Missus and she says to me that if ye be wantin' a wash I was to straight away arrest the Cap'n here and escort him directly to the kitchen post hast, where I'm to keep a close watch and rein on him 'til yer finish'd."

"Wait," Jack snapped back from a particularly delicious fantasy in which Maren was soaking in a tub, motioning him to come closer and wash her back, "what was that 'bout me?"

"Oh good," relieved, Maren tossed the blankets aside to stand, "Keep a tight leash on him for me, please, but be careful, he's a right sneaky bastard he his."

"Right miss, we'll go fetch our Annabel then to set the water on," attempting to exit, she glared at Jack in the doorway and motioned him to get moving.

"What's this 'we' shit?" he slurred, pouting.

"To the kitchen with ye, Cap'n Sparrow, o' I shall fetch the Missus."

That did it. Reluctantly, he exaggerated his slow hesitant sway down the hall, but not before shooting a smoldering gaze that reaped utter sexuality over his shoulder and directly at Maren. It took a few tense moments before Maren's heartbeat slowed down and she was finally able to gulp noisily.

0000000

The bathroom experience was decadently luxuriant and delightfully indulgent and almost without incident, save for a quiet scuffle outside the door that startled Maren from her relaxation. Listening carefully, she heard Missus Phillips arguing with Jack. It seems he had created a diversion in the kitchen and sneaked off during the chaos, only to be caught red-handed picking the lock to the bathroom. Some more squabbling and it sounded like Jack was being forced to return to the kitchen and peel carrots to keep his idle hands busy. Eventually Jack's charming whines and Missus Phillips fussing faded away down the hall. Apparently, Maren's virtue was safe again. She tried not to feel too disappointed.

0000000

Morning was creeping along and the clear Caribbean sky promised a beautiful day. Maren waited to eat breakfast out on the veranda, smelling the cooking food wafting around from the kitchen window. She wore the grey dress from her new wardrobe and had Miss Annabel pin her golden hair up, appearing to all the world like a genuine lady of class. But far from the aesthetic beauty around her, Maren's mind dwelled in a much darker place, the sick dimensions of Barbossa's memories in her dreams.

Worrying her lip, she thought of Bootstrap Bill and what a wretched end the poor fellow had come to. The suffering that monster, Barbossa, inflicted on him and Bill had only wanted to be a 'good man', to do what was right. She had to make a decision about what to say to young Will, if anything. After all, he should know that Maren had seen his father, if only through the eyes of Barbossa. Shouldn't he know the final events of his father's life? Wasn't it a son's right to know his father's legacy? Yet, how the hell was Maren supposed to give the horrific details of his torture without traumatizing Will! It was quite a conundrum, don't tell Will and suffer the guilt or tell him and have him suffer the truth. What was a medium to do?

Abruptly, two snaking arms wrapped around her waist and Maren jumped, stifling a panicked cry. However she was not surprised to hear that inebriated chuckle in her ear, "Nice bath, luv?" Jack nuzzled her neck to inhale a large breath of her scent, caressing his nose and cheek to the curve of her shoulder, "Mmm, ye smell nice."

"Is Will at the smithy already?" snipping, Maren struggled to keep her concentration on the matter at hand, not at the chap lips now kissing her shoulder and burning hot through the soft cotton fabric of her dress. He grunted an affirmation, leisurely sliding his flittingly graceful hands down her sides. Breathlessly, she shoved away from Jack's advances, though the regret shown upon her fair features, "I must go speak with him."

Bemused by the morbidly serious expression shadowing her face, Jack leered closer to patronize her, "Why ye wantin' to go babble with Will for, when ye can be sportin' with ole Jack right here and now?" Maren _tsk_-ed, her patience deciding it was too early to accommodate Jack's antics, and stormed off down the grounds to the road. After a second's confusion, the pirate followed, arms flitting and body swaying, "Surrender a second, me sweet, so I can fetch me coat and hat and I'll escort ye there meself."

"And pray tell, oh king o' subtlety," she stopped suddenly with her arms defensively crossed and Jack almost collided with her, "how does a pirate, with a bounty the size o' Goliath's wanker set on his head, mosey down the streets of Port Royal without the entire British fleet fallin' on top o' him?"

An impish grin graced his lips while he touched a ringed index finger to his mouth, then leaned down to Maren, catching that same jeweled digit upon her plump lips. "Shhh," whispering conspiratorially, Jack relished his victory as Maren was forced to close her eyes, helpless against his onslaught of seduction, "I plan on bein' very, very sneaky."

Maren's eyes sprang open as she overly rolled them, "I do'n have time for that," she batted his hand off her lips, "I do'n have time for this." With a decisive jerk of her pretty head, Maren spun on heel and continued her resolute march to Port Royal.

Fidgeting with his beaded beard, Jack watched, entranced, by the hypnotic swing of her hips as Maren faded from sight, and what a lovely sight she made! It was perfectly clear to any fool that Maren wanted him, almost as much as he wanted her, but damn it all to Hell, she had to remain so cursedly cold, so vindictively virginal! What the devil was the woman waiting for? An image of that annoyingly genteel Norrington loomed ominously in his thoughts. Well sod that! No pompously pussy, bureaucrat bastard was stepping in on his territory, on _his_ Maren. Because she was _his_ Maren now, she belonged to the Black Pearl. When she had accepted the accord to serve on the Pearl of her own free will, she signed her fate to piracy, forever. Besides, it was an affront to all his sensibilities if Maren's powerful talents weren't put to proper use, mainly _his_ use. Indeed, the more his dastardly mind danced around the possibilities, the more it became an absolute necessity that the Black Pearl should harbor a permanent residency for a medium. "It's decided," his foggy musings grew solidly definitive and Jack laid his hand upon his chest as if reciting an solemn oath, swaying and slurring only a tad, "I, Cap'n Jack Sparrow o' the Black Pearl, fastest ship to sail the winds, proclaim the initiation of a new profession and rank 'board me vessel, that of the honorable and nominal _medium_. Fees and benefits to be negotiated later, contract and oath to be signed and stated upon return to the Pearl." He smiled happily, quite pleased with himself, and returned to the Turner house to fetch his coat and hat, then onward to stake his claim.

0000000

Partly to town, Maren recalled that she, in fact, had not been conscious on her journey to the Turner residence and consequently wasn't entirely sure how to return to Port Royal. Luckily, the gravel road led her straight to the heart of the seaport and directly into a convenient sign that pointed out the markets, the harbor, and other such helpful locations, but most importantly the smithy. Maren dutifully followed in that direction.

Things were starting to look familiar from her earlier escapade of escaping Cupid Thomas. Ahead of her she noticed the practical wooden and stone building and hurried over-

Only to have to stifle a shocked screech of surprise when Kristy jumped through a wall, not three inches from her face, to greet her enthusiastically, "_PET! Yer just in time!_"

Several people halted from their morning activities to stare at the strange woman who had been walking confidently a moment ago, then suddenly started to flounder about at nothing. Maren laughed nervously, hurriedly composing herself for the curious glances and shrugged, "Mouse!" Accepting this as an appropriate excuse, they continued with their provincial lives. 'I swear, Christ as me witness, one day I'm goin' to hook a bleedin' bell round that scrawny neck o' yers!' she communicated, glaring at Kristy.

"_Wouldn't stay,_" the ghost stated, absently obvious. Catching a glimpse of the dark circles under Maren's eyes, Kristy scrunched up her nose an edged gradually closer to Maren, "_Ye look like shit. I take it, Barbossa's dreams were'n no blow and go._"

'Hardly and ye do'n know the half o' it.'

"_Later,_" hastily, Kristy motioned for Maren to follow, "_I got a right treat for ye that should cheer ye up quick as a fuck!_" Without waiting for Maren's response, Kristy floated away down a slim alleyway alongside the smithy. Guilty, Maren admitted she was glad to receive any excuse to delay confessing Barbossa's terrible memories to Will and trailed after the dead prostitute. Kristy brought Maren behind the shop to reveal an even tinier back alley, sandwiched between the smithy and the town's stonewall. Demonically giggling, Kristy waved Maren down to a small gap between two wooden boards in the building's structure. Maren lowered herself, sitting on her knees, to see through the crack and promptly ignored her irritating conscience that pointed out that if Kristy was enjoying it, it probably wasn't morally upstanding.

From outside she could smell the smoke from the fire and hear the rhythmic metal _clang_ of the blacksmith at work.

Her quick hand clasped over her mouth to prevent her from gasping out loud at what she beheld. The delicious and beautiful Will Turner was busily hammering away at some menial project and, thank sweet God in Heaven, the man was bare-chested! Every flex and rippling of his tight muscles was a sublime visual paradise to Maren's wide eyes. He positively glowed in the roaring fire's light, shimmering from the damp sweat that coated his skin. 'God bless ye Kristy,' Maren smirked secretly to the wraith at her side.

"_What I say?_" buffing her nails on her patchy dress, Kristy blew over the shining surfaces, "_Some treat, eh?_"

'Damn straight!'

"_Damn damn straight more like it! Now have over, I be wantin' 'nother gander._"

Like a martyr who's lost her patience, Maren sighed, crossing her brows at Kristy, 'Yer dead, silly twit, just stick yer head through the wall!'

"_Oh…yeah,_" Kristy said lamely and added defensively, "_Well it be a simple thing to forget when one is bloody hidin' like this._" Abruptly, Kristy leaned forward, for once not bothered by the solid object that penetrated her apparition. Apparently, Will's excursions had made him thirst, because the blacksmith had paused his practice and clutched a mug of water beside him. Both Maren and Kristy dreamily sighed in unison while Will threw his head back to gulp desperately at the clear liquid, exposing his white neck and bobbing Adam's apple to their lusty sight. The living spy held her breath and the dead one's apparition blurred as trickles of water from Will's sloppy drinking fell from his pouting lips and trailed temptingly down his bare chest. His pallor was pale and flawless, only a few healing burns marred an otherwise perfect canvas. Maren was forced to bite her lip rather harshly to prevent herself from squealing like a fool when she examined Will's tan pert nipples and the naughty fiend in her wondered what was the color of Jack's?

"_Whoa, I'd like to stoke his fire,_" sitting back onto her haunches, Kristy flashed a lopsided grin at Maren.

'Ye call that an innuendo?' Maren shook her head disappointingly, 'Thought ye be possessin' a higher standard o' perversion than that, darlin'."

The gauntlet was thrown and Kristy dashed to retrieve it, "_I suppose the littl' virgin can manage better than the professional?_"

'Aye, I might,' licking her lips, Maren returned her heated stare onto Will's exposed torso for inspiration, 'How 'bout, I'd hammer 'way at his iron any day.'

Ghost and medium snickered girlishly together, albeit Maren was forced to be far quieter then Kristy. "_Bravo Pet, bravo,_" proficiently, she held up her hands as if to hold back a roaring audience, "_But let's see ye be beatin' this one, 'member this be in reference to his fencin',_" clearing her throat, "_I'd lay down me arms ifen he's sword's doin' the thrustin' and lungin'!_"

An involuntary, and most unattractive, snort sounded from Maren's nose, while vainly attempting to swallow her giggles. This only added to the hilarity of the situation and both were shaking with hysterical guffaws. Kristy had tears in her eyes and Maren's face was blue, trapped in the perpetual laughter of struggling not to laugh. 'I guess every good _Turner_ deserves another,' Maren barely suppressed another grotesque snort.

"_Nay!_" excited with a new musing, Kristy flapped her arms about, "_Even better, every good Turner deserves an-Attle!_" Maren silently clapped her hands, her smiling dimples dominating her face.

The swift clutter of the front door opening in the smithy quickly settled the two snoops down. In the doorway, with a carry whicker basket over her arm, Elizabeth huffed regally, "William Turner!" Swiping his tongue over his lips nervously, but still appearing incredibly sexy, Will spun about to smile awkwardly at his wife. She drilled on, "You, yet again, despite my previous grievances as to the matter, have left for work without partaking in breakfast…wh-why are you half-naked?" Elizabeth raked her brown eyes over Will's body.

The tiniest flush crossed his cheeks, yet he juvenilely shrugged, "It does get quite stuffy in here and no one ever comes this early for business."

"Well you should at least lock the door," she said this while reaching for the brass keys that hung on a hook next to the shop door and locked it firmly, "Lest some poor lady should happen upon you, shirtless and brawny, and suffer the onslaught of falling madly and passionately in love with you."

"Is that how call it? 'Suffer' in love with me?" boyishly, he moped, yet kept a mischievous glint to the eyes that glanced up at her over his handsome brow.

"I suppose that is up to you, are you going to eat your breakfast without fuss or grumble?"

He flashed a divinely endearing smile that made Elizabeth's eyes seemingly darker, "Permit me a minute to finish this and then you shall 'suffer' my company for breakfast." Quickly, he spun about to finish chiseling at the red metal, oblivious to the wanton burn of his wife's gaze latched upon the flexing arc of his back. Elizabeth unsuccessfully tried to lay out the meal she had packed in her basket upon the workman's table, but her wandering mind and eyes kept leaping indulgently back to Will.

Elizabeth, so much like Jack, was impulsive. Maybe not in the exploding hedonistic way Jack managed to be impulsive, but in a decisive calculating impulsion that had saved her from many a tight fix. That impulse was presently making her hands itch and pulse quicken. Gnawing thoughtfully on her cheek, Elizabeth's sight darted from Will to the door, the door back to Will, and from Will to the falling of his trousers on his slim hips, which he vaguely pulled up only to have them slip dangerously low again. Who was she to deny an impulse?

Will paused his assault on the anvil, to peer down curiously at the two pale hands that were now petting his flat stomach. The arms were wrapped about his waist. Steadily and with eyebrows shooting skyward, Will turned about to face Elizabeth, sucking in a sharp breath when he gathered her expression. His Elizabeth, who had spent a lifetime forced to stifle and hide her emotions all in the name of pretentious propriety, was the perfect picture of lust. Breathing shallow, eyes wide and pleading, all the color had drained from her graceful face, leaving her pale as porcelain and just as soft to his questing touch. He whispered to her, "Eliza-," but was silenced by the seal of her parted lips, roughly demanding the surrender of his kiss. Desperate whimpers sounded from her dove throat as Will responded, ravenously plunging his tongue into her welcome mouth. There never was a more painstakingly thorough kisser then Will. Each time he kissed his fair lady, he renewed a vast exploration of her generous mouth, exposing every crevice and tooth to his taste, as if they had never kissed before.

Eventually, Elizabeth was strained to tear her lips away from that devil's tongue, unless she wished to faint from asphyxiation. Unperturbed, the blacksmith continued his assault on her slim neck, sliding leisurely from her ear down to her collarbone and up again with punctuating nips and bites.

'Umm,' anxiously, Maren glanced at Kristy, 'ye do'n think they 'tend to…right here in the shop, do ye?'

"_Dear Lord,_" Kristy pensively sighed, "_I buggery-well hope so._"

Almost in time to answer Maren's question, Elizabeth moaned urgently, clutching Will by his wavy locks as he persisted to nibble her nape, "I want you William, I _need_ you, please darling."


	18. Watch

Censored: This chapter contains a detailed sexual encounter between Will and Elizabeth. It is not posted on this site.

Chapter Summary: Maren is caught spying on the Turner's by Jack who simply can't pass such an opportune moment. A make-out session ensues. Maren seems inclined to return with Jack to the Turner residence, but unfortunately Norrington appears and Jack must disappear.

Chapter Teaser:

_ Chapter Eighteen: Watch_

-and almost died of sheer shock as a jeweled hand clapped around her mouth and a brawny lean arm wrapped firmly around her waist, preventing her from jumping up and bolting. She recognized the smell of rum and ocean even before his husky slurring voice whispered, hissing into her ear, "Looks like our William's not a eunuch after all."

If you wish to read this chapter in its entirety please visit either www. mystifyingdreams .com or www. adultfanfiction .net at your own risk.


	19. Serenade

_Chapter Nineteen: Serenade_

_"Miss Attle, how pleasant to see you. What brings you about?"_

Bloody hell, Maren spun about and plastered a smile upon her face, "And how pleasant to see you, Commodore Norrington." She left it at that, hoping that Norrington was only exchanging polite pleasantries and not actually interested in further conversation. No such luck.

"It is a fine day," oddly, he stated this without studying the sky; instead, his pale eyes remained warmly fixed on Maren.

"'Tis," conceding, Maren self-consciously noticed how far away she was addressing Norrington and with one last mournful glance at the alley that concealed Jack Sparrow, she walked to the Commodore, "I want'd to take a gander at Mister Turner's smithy, but he be…busy at the moment, so I was just headin' back to the house, excuse me." Maren made to leave, but Norrington reflexively stepped into her path and was immediately embarrassed with his own boldness.

Flustering gracefully, he leaned his head down and spoke in a hushed voice, "I must confess, Miss Attle, I was rather hoping-er, that is, I _thought_ that perhaps you had come to seek my proposal of a tour."

"Oh," besides a covert twitch in the corner of her right eye, Maren gave no sign of displeasure, "Aye, right, well…that would be _one_ o' the reasons for me venture to town," Norrington's expression brightened from sheepish to genuine delight, "but seein' hows yer occupi'd, _commodorin'_ and all." Shrugging and smiling, she gestured to the other Redcoats who were listening intently to their conversation and, after realizing they had been caught eavesdropping, busied themselves with examining their shoes, fingernails, and clouds thoroughly. A cold glance from Norrington and the men retreated a few modest steps away.

"Well, as it happens," he said to Maren, "being a Commodore has certain compensative advantages, such as the leisure to retire for a day, in order to escort prestigious visitors through the port."

Prestigious? Maren had been called a lot of things, the more colorful phrases usually around closing time at the pub, but certainly _prestigious_ had never been among them. Actually, the Commodore could be very charming when he set his mind to it…but what about the seductive pirate smoldering in the alley, waiting impatiently for her return? What to do, what to do? Then Jack gave her a hint.

Suddenly, a streak of metallic light flew, unnoticed, behind Norrington's head and a nasty, jagged dagger was embedded into a bakery wall, splintering the wood, not a few inches from the fortunate man's skull. Maren stared, wide-eyed, at the weapon still thrumming quietly. Apparently 'subtlety' was not in Jack's vocabulary.

Something, perhaps the rush of the knife streaking by or Maren's panicked glance over his shoulder, made Norrington start to turn-

lurching forward and effectively distracting him from seeing Jack's 'warning', Maren abruptly grabbed Norrington's forearm and tugged, "What a relief! 'Cause I got meself a confession o' me own, Commodore. Visitin' Will at the smithy was just an excuse, I truly was lookin' for ye in hopes ye might not be too busy. So how 'bout we start that tour on the here and now, eh?" She tilted her face up to him, for he was much taller then either Jack or Will, and grinned coyly, a searing expression of happy innocence that she was perfectly aware could melt men like stone.

For an instant, the Commodore lost his voice and juvenilely gulped, but quickly recovered his concise and controlled demeanor, "Gladly, an excellent notion. Permit me a moment to instruct my officers and then we shall be off." Nodding his head awkwardly, Norrington spun about on his heel and strode to the soldiers conversing bored across the street.

Quickly, Maren wretched the dagger from the wooden building and tossed it haphazardly into the alley, where she saw Jack glowering at her, one hand on hip, the other thrumming irately upon a stonewall. Her brow knotted and she mouthed, 'Sorry!' to him soundlessly, before straightening up to appear the picture of innocence as Norrington approached her again, his arm procured.

0000000

"Mercy's sake Jack sit down your pacing is making me dizzy," and as Elizabeth nabbed William's bishop, he added sourly, "as well as lose, apparently." Chess between the Turners was always one-sided, William simply didn't have the mind for it. His terms of thinking were straightforward and blunt, 'take what you can, give nothing back' sort of strategy, which was fine for pirates and blacksmiths, or pirate blacksmiths even, but not, alas, for chess. Elizabeth sympathetically stroked Will's hand while he pouted, earning her a warm wink that tingled her spine.

"Aye, and yer lovey-dovey cuddlin's are makin' me sick," Jack snapped half-heartedly over his shoulder, while he checked the window again, "Where in bloody hell is she?"

"She'll be back soon, I'm sure," Elizabeth pursed her lips and slightly shook her head as William laid a timid finger on his last knight, questioning her with his pleading eyes for a merciful hint. She conceded sweetly, muttering, "Try the rook." Brightening, Will examined his chess pieces with renewed vigor.

"Aye _soon_, that's what ye said at lunch, then 'gain at tea, so now it be supper and still ye say _soon_!" growling, Jack bitterly batted the curtains that had fallen into his view.

"Jealously is as cruel as the grave," Will recited in sing-song, ignoring the derogative snort from Jack.

"Moi? Jealous?" a decorated hand laid out upon his chest, Jack peered blurrily at Will as if this concept was as foreign as chopsticks, "O' what? So, some aristocratic stick-up-the-arse officer of respectable standin' and hypocritical standards swishes 'way me newest acquisition, who may I add, has curves that could make a whirlin' dervish woozy and appears to a man like a mermaid to a nine-month-voyaged sailor. All that 'side, ye forget somethin' young Turner…I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow, savvy? Jealousy be for lesser, more insecure mortals, never for the likes o' me."

"Ah, yes of course," Will smirked down at the chessboard, "How silly of me."

"But if he touches her, I'll have his balls for a trophy," muttering under his breath, Jack added while he continued his pacing.

"Well blessedly lucky for Commodore Norrington's testicles," gesturing with one of Will's defeated pawns, Elizabeth nodded towards the window, "because Maren has returned to us seemingly unmolested." Sure enough, the medium in her grey dress and hair pinned high was walking leisurely across the grounds.

Immediately, Jack flew like his namesake to the sofa and laid down, nonchalantly perching his hat over his face and holding in loose grip a tumbler of scotch at his side, though they've yet to witness him actually drink from it. Exchanging exasperated looks, Will and Elizabeth continued their game.

0000000

"I be such a dunce!" Maren slapped her head playfully without relinquishing her hold on Norrington' elbow, "Here I am, babblin' the day 'way and never thought to question on poor Lieutenant Upton. How be his leg? Pain's not too soar, is it?"

"_Ca'n be as painful as his singin',_" the ghost was chasing squirrels out of their nests, entertaining herself with their irate squeaks, the two living persons having bored her to tears.

Norrington chuckled, a sweet sound that was becoming very endearing to Maren's ears, "I daresay he suffers more from his hangover then from his broken leg, at least that was his state of mind this morning."

Indeed, morning had been a long while ago and now the Caribbean sun was tingeing orange, sinking fast towards the horizon. Maren could not recall ever being treated like Norrington treated her that day. He was polite and courteous, enthralled with her every brassy opinion and scathing antic she had to offer to their discussion, so attentive, so amenable.

During the tour, Norrington had shown her every ship in the harbor, every armament, and all the barracks before he could stall no longer, mainly because he had nothing more to show, having explained every item to the fullest from the sails to the cobblestones, and regretfully offered to escort Maren home.

So here they were, the Commodore and a peasant barmaid, meandering slowly to the Turner manor, which loomed brightly at them. They floundered in idle chitchat before lulling at the front gate. Norrington broke the silence, "Thank you for your company this day, Miss Attle, I have thoroughly enjoyed myself."

"Thank ye for the tour, Commodore Norrington," she extended her hand and Norrington hurriedly clasped it between his two earnest palms, startling Maren slightly when his index fingers began subtlety stroking her wrist.

"Perhaps you might bless me with your company for dinner at the Officer's Mess tomorrow," he cleared his throat innocently and stared fixedly at her small hand still held in his, "then perhaps, if you would be so kind…tea afterwards at my home."

A stinging guilt smarted against her heart when Maren realized she would not be there tomorrow night. She would be on the Black Pearl over miles of blue ocean, far away from the Commodore and Port Royal. Yet, she gathered his inexplicable nervousness and almost schoolboy shyness and couldn't bring herself to refuse him, at least verbally. Let him be disappointed tomorrow, not today, "Why I would be honor'd sir, goodnight to ye."

"Good evening Miss Attle," releasing a shaky, or perhaps it was excited, breath, Norrington pecked the lightest of kisses upon the back of her hand before turning about like the soldier he was and marching off. Maren gazed after him and for this reason he held his head that much higher as he disappeared down the road.

"_Finally!_" Kristy stretched next to Maren, watching the retreating figure of the Commodore, "_God damn ifen that bugger never shuts the hell up! Now let's go find Jack and talk dirty to him!_"

'Pervert,' Maren replied, but with no real conviction.

0000000

The door creaked ominously as Maren strode confidently inside. Noticing the Turners and an apparently napping Jack in the sitting room, she quickly rushed over to them, beaming, "Hallo, hope I did'n keep anyone waitin'?"

"Hello Maren, no not at all."

"Indeed, you are right in time for supper," Elizabeth and Will smiled up at her from their seats at the chessboard, but Jack just feigned a loud snore from the couch. Three sets of eyes rolled in his direction, four including the deceased's pair.

"_Fakin' it,_" Kristy snipped, somewhat an expert on the matter.

"Jack," hissing meaningfully and with only a smidgeon of sarcasm, Will spiked his queen, which had been massacred by Elizabeth's bishop, at the Captain. It bounced harmlessly off of his stomach, "Maren's back."

"Wha-oh," Jack yawned passively and smacked his lips, lifting his hat from his face to dispassionately glance at Maren once over, "Back already?"

"Aye," the sight of Jack sprawled out on the sofa brought exhilarating reminders of their tussle in the alley when he was so reclined upon the cobblestones with Maren atop him, somehow Maren managed to swallow her blush. Some lady she turned out to be! "Wish ye could've been there Jack," Maren crossed to him, nudging his shoulder over so she could sit next to him, "Suppose ye would've got more out o' it then me, I'm not much when it comes to nautical matters."

"So ye had a miserable time then," Jack was glowing, decidedly perked up and clasping his fingers under his chin in a scenic mock sympathy. He placed a hand upon her knee.

"Did'n say that exactly," coyly, she patted her hair, permitting the tiniest grin to taunt Jack, "For what the day lack'd in subject, Commodore Norrington more then made up for in company, such a gentlemen he is. Knows how to treat a lady correct-like." She removed his hand from her knee.

Jack _frowned_, "Why? Was there a lady there?"

"_Well aint he a right pissy bastard?_"

"Will," Elizabeth cut in quickly, tugging Will up and away from the sitting room, "Come check dinner with me." The tension in the air was accelerating in intensity, whether it was sexual in nature or temperamental, the Turners wisely conducted a hasty exit before the inevitable eruption.

"And just what was that suppos'd to mean!"

"And just what were ye doin' all damn day?"

"On the port, with a man that treat'd me with respect I might add!"

"So now _I_ do'n respect ye?"

"Not like the Commodore."

"Oh, really?"

"Aye, he managed to converse with me the entire day without once insinuatin' any intentions o' crawlin' up me skirt!"

"To Hell he did'n!" Jack scowled, "How can ye have surviv'd so long in Tortuga and still be so bloody stupid?" He appeared genuinely thoughtful for a moment, "Suppose ye did'n run into too many gents though…"

"What's yer meanin'?"

"Men be men, Maren, all the same regardless of birth. There be but one difference," here he raised a finger right between her eyes, face crooked close to hers (Jack was under the impression that 'personal body space' was something that happened to other people), "between a gentleman and the common man and that is _vocabulary_. Look-see here, if I'm keen on copulatin' with ye, which o' course I am." Hands dancing, Jack illustrated his smug point while Maren glowered, "I say it nice and plain-like, 'Let's fuck.' There, straight and to the point, but will a gentleman be so honest? Hell no, he'll dance 'round the topic all flowery and polite, 'til he's more dishonest with his etiquette then I am true with me bluntness. They use silly deceptive lines like 'come to me house for tea,' o' some such nonsense."

Her ears perked, "Tea?" she asked suspiciously.

"Aye, tea-," Jack suddenly caught the sharpness to her question, "Jesus Christ, woman, he ask'd ye did'n he? And ye actually believ'd it?" shaking his head in martyrdom, he tsk-ed, "This be reflectin' quite poorly on me powers o' seduction. I've done everythin' but tie ye to the bloody bed and what do ye almost fall for? 'Come to me house for tea with a dash of sodomy?' Sweet siren, that's pathetic."

"But that's not how-," she flustered, "-he did'n mean…I'm sure-," a few more moments of dumb denial, before crude acceptance, "Why that son o' a bitch."

They sat silently after barking at each other, heads turned accusingly, face to face. A noticeable scowl marred Maren's features, but Jack stayed his expression into that frustrating smirk of patronizing indifference. He was reclined, her posture was stark straight. He was breathing slow deliberate breaths, her breathing was shallow and quick. His eyes were slitted, peering up at her through a careless sliver of brown, her eyes were wide and reflective. Above all else, they were very, very quiet.

What finally broke this strange tableau is a matter of debate, for several small details happened at once. A flicker of the setting sun caught Maren's flaxen hair and lit it like a golden hallow. A tiny silver trinket in Jack's hair shifted to rest at the pulse point on his proud throat. The expanse of Maren's demanding cleavage pulled a seam in her bodice too taunt. The rings on Jack's hands glinted, sparkling playfully in accent to his agile hands.

Whatever the cause, something spurred them like a starting shot to embrace.

They jolted forward, hands grabbing arms, shoulders, thighs, wherever purchase could be found. The kiss was desperate as an orphan in Mother's arms, pleadingly passionate. Tastes of rum and ocean lapped at their tongues and crashed upon their teeth. Parting only for a scarce moment, they angled their heads to better assault and explore the other's welcoming mouth. It was a frenzy of prurience.

But eventually the ardor eased down, as if that panicked possession of libido was just an assurance, evidence of a claim that Maren had succumbed to, that the episode in the alley wasn't just a fleeting dream. Thus assured, the kisses gradually calmed, now gentle presses to the lips and long languid strokes with the tongues. Jack had her head cupped reverently in his palms, stroking the curve of her cheeks with his thumbs. "'Tis time Maren," Jack punctuated his pauses with fervent kisses to her face, this one between her brows, "indeed, decidedly the opportune moment," a peck on her eyelid, "to escort ye, with utmost haste," the other eyelid was granted the same adoration, "upstairs to bed," her nose now, "where I swear to immediately and indulgently," this time, he nipped at her chin, "proceed with makin' sweet fanatical love to ye." Wrapping his powerful arms around her waist, Jack pressed his hard body against Maren's compliant one, "Savvy?"

A heavy sigh soaked in lament distracted Maren to glance over Jack's shoulder at the ghost that was hovering earnestly behind them, "_Gawd, I'd give me teeth for a good lay right now._"

"Kristy," out loud, Maren snipped, causing Jack to follow her gaze and peer over his shoulder warily, "a littl' _privacy_ please." Then Maren's eyes fell upon Jack's profile and either the angle or the light made him appear somewhat younger. She was reminded of her dream last night, the image of Jack many years ago, and shuddered as the other gory aspects of her nightmare rekindled.

"_Bugger privacy, more action!_" the wraith crossed her arms in resolution.

Slightly baffled, Jack felt Maren stiffen in his arms and heard her whisper tiredly, almost accusingly, "Jack…why did'n ye tell me Barbossa was Cap'n Romulus' cabin boy?"

Now it was Maren's turn to feel Jack tense around her, dropping his arms and peering down at her cautiously. "Who told ye that, I wonder?" his smoky voice was equally quiet, also tinged with accusation.

Sarcastically, she lashed out at him, "Who ye think, eh?"

"Maren, apparently I fail'd to make meself clear the first time about," Jack grinned at her, but the smile didn't touch his eyes. Those brown orbs remained steadfast and suddenly distant, "Anyone dead 'round, me stays dead, especially Barbossa."

"It's not like I meant to," defensive, Maren turned away from him, "the dreams always come after a possession. Not the actual haunt, mind ye, just the memories-the _shadows_ o' them bein' purged from me head."

"So that's how ye know? Ye dream'd that bastard's memories?"

"Aye," raising her pretty face, Maren sighed, "I saw Cap'n Romulus and the Alpha, even Barbossa as a slip o' a boy." This news, in spite of the original deception or 'omission of truth' as Jack would call it, pleased Jack instead of shamed him. Maren became frustrated, couldn't he at least pretend to be guilty? "I saw…Bill, too and what they did to him."

Any sign of amusement upon Jack's exotic features abruptly vanished.

"I saw the Aztec gold and the curse," continuing, she was oblivious to the dark continence casting over Jack, "I felt the hatred, the greed like it was me own." Mournfully, she finally glanced at him and set her comforting hand upon his handsome cheek, "I saw the mutiny, Jack, at least the maroonin' part o' it."

Callously, he batted her hand and swiftly stood to take a few modest steps away, "That's hardly a particular moment o' me life that I would care to elaborate on. 'Tis also, most definitely, none o' yer business whatsoever."

For a moment, Maren was too shocked by his uncharacteristic cold manner to speak. Where was this attitude coming from? By all rights, Maren was the party wronged here, Jack having neglected to inform on Barbossa's origins. But she assessed the slight frown, the cross of his brows, and the rigid posture of his back before her heart melted in the realization that Jack, relaxed and cool, aloof yet controlling, was _sensitive_ about the subject in question. And why shouldn't he be? The poor man had his trust betrayed and his heart, the Black Pearl, torn away from him! The poor tragic man! How well he hid his hurt from the cruel world! "Oh, Jack," Maren cooed breathlessly, tugging at his elbow and more entranced by him then ever before, even when he was seducing her, "I be so, so sorry."

Snorting, he shook her off, "Save yer pity, lass, 'cause I'll have none o' it and grant me yer obedience insteady." The same smirk that failed to touch his eyes formed as he literally spoke down to her, "Consider this yer first official order from yer Cap'n and heed it, keep yer powers steered clear o' me past, savvy? No more spyin' on me personal history and if I ever, _ever_ see Barbossa 'gain…well I'll be very upset." He held her chin far more tenderly then his voice entailed, "Learn to control that sense o' yers, sweet witch, 'fore it gets ye in trouble."

…_witch_…he actually said it.

"_By Lucifer's wank, Pet,_" Kristy cried out, "_he did'n mean it!_"

'Did'n he?' any desire to console Sparrow drained away as she conversed in silence, '…_witch_, I should've known. Some things do'n change, I be a daft stupid git to reckon any different…'

The ghost touched her shoulder with two phantom fingers that sunk right through, "_He does'n know. How could he know what 'tis to be a medium?_"

Jack, confidant his point had been made, now noticed the glistening tears pooling in her blue eyes, staring downward at his boots. Damn it all, why were women so bleedin' fragile? Reaching out to comfort her, Jack regretted both prospects of hurting the young barmaid and perhaps killing the certainty of getting laid that night, but was interrupted by Elizabeth who entered the sitting room warily, "Supper is ready." She sensed the apprehension in the air and cast an accusatory glare at Jack who shrugged innocently.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Elizabeth," blurting out, Maren attempted to smile casually, though her grin was forced and piteous in its obvious counterfeit, "but I've come down with a wick'd mean headache." She raised her hand to her temple as if the proof was there to see, "So, I'll just be retirin' a tad early tonight, me apologies." Inadvertently, a single tear slipped along Maren's cheek and she covered it embarrassed before scurrying out of the sitting room and up the stairs. "Good night," she called out over her shoulder.

"Wait a moment sweetheart," raising his smoky drawl, Jack bellowed after her, "Is this the kind o' contagious headache where I conveniently succumb to the same ailment in say five minutes time, then discreetly retire, followin' ye to yer welcomin' bedroom in order to recuperate? O' is this the 'sod off' sort o' headache?" All that answered the pirate was the ominous slam of a door in the distant upstairs, "That would be a 'sod off'."

"_Shit, ye really fuck'd this one up, Jack Sparrow,_" Kristy snorted, illustrating rude gestures with her hands, "_Ye priest suckin' pecker, do'n got the sense God gave plague harborin' vermin._"

"Dare I inquire as to what that was about?" Elizabeth asked sharply.

"Not entirely sure meself," chewing on his cheek, Jack stared up the stairs thoughtfully. The chances of a rut were quickly dissipating and desperate measures would have to be taken to ensure a night of passionate bliss.

0000000

The knob jiggled, shaking to and fro, but the chair wedged firmly under the handle kept the door from budging.

From her place on the bed, Maren watched the doorknob apprehensively. The hour was late and the room was eerily dark, though the moonlight was exceptionally bright outside. After retreating from Jack, she had immediately locked herself in her room and submitted to tearful fits of self-pity and anger. Luckily, Kristy was at service to offer soothing reassurances and heartfelt support, so eventually Maren's tantrum diminished from self-pity and wrath, to a semi-pissy sort of resentment. Whereby, the temperamental barmaid secured the chair under the doorknob and readied herself for bed. She lay awake for two hours, dimly disappointed that no one came to check upon her, listening to clutters and thumps of the household retiring for the night. Then there was about ten minutes of serene silence-

before telltale booted footsteps walked curtly to her door. Straining her ears, Maren heard the tiniest _clinks_ of what she imagined to be a lock pick at work. A louder _clank_ that was by no means her overactive imagination sounded, signifying the surrender of the lock. And now the doorknob was jiggling…

Maren braced herself should he suddenly kick in the door, preparing a plethora of curses and a raging tirade that would reduce the pirate to the sniveling brat he was! She also rallied herself for a more subtle assault, should Jack attempt to seduce her or (sweet Jesus please) if he should start _begging_, Maren would deliver a scathing rejection to emasculate him for the extent of his indecent existence. Admittedly, Maren was embellishing her abilities to quarrel a tad, but she _was_ really pissed. Anxious and waiting in anticipation, she listened for Jack's next move.

There was a tentative knock, quieter then the hammering of Maren's heart.

Absolute silence.

The booted footsteps walked away.

That was it? No breaking the door into splinters, no demands, no pinning her to the bed? No seduction? No pleading, imploring, or wooing? The bastard didn't even raise his voice-hell, he didn't even bother to _speak_! Just a knock? One damnable knock? Frustrated, Maren growled ferociously while she threw a pillow at the door. What happened to all the talk of 'goddess form' and 'sensual potency'? Why hadn't he tried harder to claim her, the 'living aphrodisiac'? Didn't he want her? Apparently not…

Feeling bitter tears sting her eyes, Maren hid her face under her pillows, 'I hate ye Jack Sparrow!' Ultimately exhausted in body and soul, she surrendered to sleep.

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Half an hour of precious slumber passed before Maren was startled awake by a particularly rambunctious chorus sung by a singularly unique bird-

"_How lovely is the Ma—ay time,_

_All hearts with joy it fills._

_…um, somethin' or other somethin'…_

_…la, la, la-it TRILLS!_"

The song was being belted, or at least the parts that could be remembered properly, outside the window, right outside the window, but how could that be considering Maren was on the second floor? Throwing off the blankets, she followed her ears to investigate. Meanwhile Jack, having finally recalled the next verse, sang out louder-

"_And when she ask'd me if me love _

_Was true and would abide?_

_Till death shall come between us_

_I re--plied!_"

Cautiously, Maren approached the window and what she beheld made her throw open the panes with haste. Jack was perched precariously on a tree limb, perfectly level with her windowsill, draped like a sleek jaguar upon his stomach, utterly relaxed! One arm dangled, a bottle of brandy loosely clasped in it. He wore his hat and coat and for all the world looked absolutely at home in the treetops just like his namesake, however there was a rather large pinkish flower tucked comically into his hair that looked distinctly out of place.

"What the devil are ye doin'!" she stuck her head out into the crisp night sky.

Inhaling a mighty breath to commence his exuberant performance, Jack halted to blink significantly at Maren and wave vaguely behind her, "There be a chair blockin' yer door." He stated helpfully as if this fact had escaped Maren's attention.

"I know that Jack."

"Why?" childishly, he whined.

"I put it there."

Studying her a moment longer, Jack shrugged and switched to another song, this one deeper as to flatter his voice-

"_Apple, apple fallen in the water,_

_By the stream I kiss'd the miller's daughter._

_By the stream I kiss'd the mi--ller's daugh--ter!_"

Maren rose her own voice to cut off the incessant bellowing, though the bellowing was becoming suspiciously more tuned and timed…almost akin to genuine singing, "_Why_ are ye out there Jack?"

"I'm serenadin' ye," he slurred and spread out his arms, insinuating how obvious the answer should be, "So shut up and be serenad'd, damn it."

"Yer drunk," she said.

"Most likely," conceding, he proffered the mostly empty bottle to her sight, "So how ye fancy me ballads, eh? Somthin' more melancholy perhaps?" Before she could deny him, Jack sang out-

"_Weep, weep, weep oh mine eyes,_

_And cease not, and cease not!_

_Alas these yer spring tides_

_Methinks increase not._"

"Yuck," Maren shuddered, "I do'n like that one, it be too sad."

"How 'bout me pirate song?" cheery with an inebriated grin, Jack perked up, "That one's happy."

"If ye dare, I'm closin' this window and returnin' to bed," quickly Maren warned, smiling warm and flirtatious back at him. All right, Maren good play along, "If I'm to be serenad'd, where's the poetry then?"

"Ah," he sat up, raising his bottle for a hearty drink, "Aye poetry, I can accommodate that." Theatrically clearing his throat, Jack held out one ringed hand to gracefully indicate Maren as he recited, "'O, divine woman! All that thy seasons, O' Nature, bring is fruit for me! All things come from thee, subsist in thee, go back to thee.' That's Marcus Aurelius, that is."

She bit her lip and flushed, "I'm not sure who that is, but it sure sound'd somethin' wonderful!"

Poetry, Jack mused in victory, works every time, "Some Shakespeare then? 'Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; When little fears grow great, great love grows there.'"

"That one's nice," Maren shyly cast her eyes downward in embarrassed modesty, a wee close to home that one.

"Far beyond the greed o' lust, o' the hunger o' flesh, there breathes the livin' desire to capture ye upon my eyes forever; Sweet obsession! As I once and oft beheld the dark waters by moonlight, fathomless ebony caress'd by sparklin' silver, so ye are to my heart the sea, wutherin' my soul to oblivion before yer sheer majesty…vast, beautiful, heavenly."

Her mouth dry and heart aching, Maren suppressed a shiver, "That be me favorite so far, who's it by?"

"Why one Cap'n Jack Sparrow o' course," he bowed as he sat, saluting with his bottle of brandy, "Inspir'd on the moment, thank ye very much."

Maren's blood began to race and a terrible heat surged through her skin. That lovely poem was about her? The beating of her heart was desperately rapid. At that instant, Maren wished nothing more then to tell Jack she loved him, to confess, to swear her undying devotion and adoration to him alone or something equally dramatic, but she could not find her voice. Instead, she gaped, rather ungracefully, like a drowning fish.

"So Maren-," attempting to stand up, Jack suddenly slipped, his boots loosing purchase on the wobbling tree branch. There was a terrible moment that Jack was suspended freely in the air, falling, yet luck or agility miraculously saved him. He grabbed the very branch he had fallen from, catching himself with one slippery palm, while his forsaken bottle crashed to the ground and broke with a shatter on twisted roots below. Thus he remained a second to catch his breath, hanging and swinging in the breeze like an enormous weathervane.

Maren found her voice! "Jack!" she shrieked at him and he glared up at her, "Get down from there 'fore ye break yer bloody neck!"

"Ahh!" childishly, he cooed at her, "Are ye worried? Ye forget somehtin' luv, I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow! I've got everythin' under control, no worries. Look-see Maren, one hand!" and waved his free hand about proudly.

"Not funny," she spat, "Now get down!"

"Why? Ye scar'd I'm goin' to hurt meself? O' kill meself?" Jack began swinging his body back and forth, "Would ye cry for me, sweetheart?" Hand over hand, Jack 'walked' along the branch towards Maren, the swaying of his body propelling him forward, "Eh, Maren? Would ye weep for ole Jack at his funeral?"

"Nay," Maren barked back, "but I'll piss on yer grave insteady!"

Grunting, Jack grasped another branch that stretched closer to the windowsill. "Some men," he panted, but in no way fatigued, as he approached, "might consider that a turn on." This limb was thinner then the other and trembled ominously with each shift of his weight.

"Jack please!"

By now he was ignoring her, concentrating on the task at hand. He had arrived at the end of his bough and a good four feet separated him from his destination. Aye, he should clear that nice and simple. Totally disregarding the haphazard bend in the branch, Jack rocked himself to and fro and gained a steady momentum. Had it been another, safer situation, Maren would have laughed at Jack's focused expression, biting his lip, nostrils flaring, and brow crossed, he was truly adorable! Then all at once, at the height of his pendulum swing, Jack let go.

Swiftly, Maren dodged the flying pirate, crying out in shocked surprise as he deftly somersaulted through the window, a speedy streak of beads, leather, and ocean. Unfortunately, Jack's graceful acrobatic performance was far easier executed then finished. He crashed and sprawled out in an awkward tumble, sliding to a halt on his stomach against the cold wood floor, his hat fallen next to him. He paused a second and propped himself up on his elbows. "Tada," his smoky voice spoke seemingly bored.

Guardedly, a breathless Maren cocked her head to study the reclined pirate, "Are ye hurt?"

Jack presented an exaggerated mime of checking himself over. "Nothin's broken," he shrugged up at her.

"Splendid," any pleasantries vanished from her face, "Then mosey yer flyin' arse out o' me room right now!"

"Wait, wait!" springing to his knees, Jack began rummaging through his coat pockets, "I got somethin' for ye…somewhere round here…blast! Where the bugger is that stupid flower?"

"The one in your hair?" she asked and crossed her arms.

Perplexed, he touched his matted braids and dreadlocks, his fingers locating the garish pink bud. Immediately, the confusion dissipated and his features alit cheerfully, "Aye that's it." And then, Lord have mercy, he _pouted_, bottom lip sticking out, face turned downward, and eyes blinking innocently to peer shyly up at her, "For ye." Jack proffered the flower out to her, still on bended knees.

Maren stared at the tropical bud a long while, striving to suppress the sentimentality in her that had been truly moved by Jack's humble and attentive gift. After all, it was just a silly little present from a notoriously drunken lecher, wasn't it? It couldn't _mean_ anything. Yet, the significance of this favor was quickly becoming apparent to Maren's increasingly racing thoughts. She began to perspire, even though the night air was cool. He was offering her something, was she willing to reciprocate? She didn't dare elaborate further on those thoughts or she surely would have run away. Maren stuck her courage to the sticking place.

So it had all come down to this. Take the flower or leave it?

"Would-," Maren stilled her hand, hovering over the flower's silk petals, "…would ye be gentle?" and added quickly, "And patient?"

And there it was! Jack had finally won, but he decided not to sit comfortable on his laurels just yet. Laying his free hand upon his chest, he smiled, graciously honest, "By the Black Pearl, I swear me touch will be tender and trust'd o' may I never sail fair ocean 'gain."

What the Hell?

Maren took the flower…

…Jack stood up.


	20. Spilt Blood

Censored: This chapter contains a _very_ detailed sexual encounter between Maren and Jack. It is not posted on this site.

Chapter Summary: This is _the_ chapter, folks. Jack finally gets Maren into bed; wild hot sex ensues. Of course, in the process a little blood is spilt, which traditionally is one of the requirements that binds a pirate to their captain and ship.

Chapter Teaser:

Chapter Twenty: Spilt Blood 

As previously mentioned, Jack Sparrow had spent his boyhood in his mother's brothel, (needless to say, Jack remembered adolescences quite fondly) and thusly became privy to the ancient and modern art of the kiss, among other skills. Indeed, his powers of osculation were so infamous and praised throughout the seven seas that Jack had been invited several times to lecture and teach, through enthusiastic hands-on training of course, at many renown harems, geisha houses, and bordellos alike. So armed with this legendary talent, Jack assaulted Maren's mouth, nibbling lips and sucking at the tongue, caressing the back teeth and stroking the palate. Maren didn't have a chance.

If you wish to read this chapter in its entirety please visit either www. mystifyingdreams .com or www. adultfanfiction .net at your own risk.


	21. Jack's Tattoos

Censored: This chapter contains a detailed sexual encounter between Jack and Maren. It is not posted on this site.

Chapter Summary: Jack tells the stories of his eleven tattoos and many scars; including the first time he met Bootstrap Bill, the tattoo of his mother's infamous brothel, and the Black Pearl's crest.

Chapter Teaser:

_Chapter Twenty-one: Jack's Tattoos_

Abruptly sitting up, Maren leaned over to the nightstand and used the candle to light the bedside lamp. With the improved illumination, she leaned over Jack, one arm propping her up, the other touching the painted skin, and carefully inspected the picture. It was as big as the palm on Jack's hand and drawn in blacks and grays, like etched granite. Grey waves crashed upon a black orb, surrounded by a banner baring proud calligraphically enhanced letters. There was also writing on the dark circle, a black pearl she recognized a tad slowly. A signature was hidden in the turf on the bottom of the tattoo. "Ye read Latin?" watching her trace the letters with her fingertips, he inquired innocently.

If you wish to read this chapter in its entirety please visit either www. mystifyingdreams .com or www. adultfanfiction .net at your own risk.


	22. Return to the Pearl

_Chapter Twenty-two: Return to the Pearl_

"_God damn'd, I be sooo booorred! Why does'n anythin' ever happen at night?_"

Watching the Turners earlier that evening had at least been entertaining, but such amorous escapades are all too brief in comparison to the other seven monotonous hours of slumber. Sometimes it was hardly worth being dead! The ghost floated about the yard, her wraith sight falling upon the sleepless lights at the fort. Perhaps a stealthy visit to the redcoats might 'liven' up the dull hours of the night; however, a closer glare at the garrison in the distance changed her mind.

The fort was outside her _boundaries_…

The distance to which Kristy could wander from Maren fluctuated from day to day, depending on such spontaneous issues as Maren's general health, her menstruation, and her emotional state. More otherworldly factors included the age and location of nearby haunts (graveyards usually tied Kristy pretty close to her medium), for some reason, the phases of the moon and tides (which was the only attribute Maren considered even semi-mystical), and how close the anniversary of Kristy's murder was. Some days she could mosey as far as a mile, once she almost managed two and that was a record; other days she was restricted to the same building and that was still a fair share better then the early days, when Maren was a small child Kristy couldn't leave the same room! Whether a mile or a front door, the _boundary_ always occurred in the same way…

_The fog seeped through, before her that dingy room, a step away, a terrible step away, waiting in infinite patience._

Her haunting place.

In a way, that cheap flat in the wastelands of London's lower east was always just a step away. In Kristy's world there was no such thing as distance, only the perception of distance. At anytime, she could return, all she'd have to do was walk straight through that fog, God forbid she'd ever _have_ too. And luckily, it would be just as simple for Maren to call her back, their bond was strong enough and so was Maren.

The black night sky was blotching over to grey and soon the sun would rise in a plethora of orange and pink. People would be awakening soon, especially since today the Black Pearl was due to depart with Will's new armament of swords. Deciding Maren should be up early anyway, Kristy strode into the house to rouse her.

She glided up the stairs, debating briefly on checking out Jack's room in hopes of spying a naked sleeping pirate again, but decided there would be plenty of occasions to gawk at buff Jack on the upcoming journey. To Maren's room first and pray she rises in a better mood then when she went to sleep!

0000000

"_Cunny-lickin', donkey-romper!_"

Out of all the more precarious ways to awaken, the banshee-like wailing of a hysterically cursing ghost is by far one of the most unpleasant.

"_Why I be bugger'd by a dog, by a motherfuckin' dog!_"

Startled, Maren shot up in bed, displacing Jack from snoozing on her shoulder, and turned wide surprised eyes to Kristy who was performing an enthusiastic jig about the room, all the while screaming to high heaven and back, "_Ye did it, Pet! By the milk from me own mum's tit, ye soddin' did it! So sayeth the bitch o' a slut nun, 'Praise King Jesus!'_"

Jack in turn was startled by Maren's sudden jump and he too bolted forward, darting bleary glares about the room in alarmed confusion, "Mmm 'wake, I'm awake!"

"_Up the arse and down the throat, me gel, devil's cock be damn'd!_"

"What is it?" his body visibly tensing, Jack watched Maren's blank face carefully.

"_Did ye, Pet! Did 'it' happen!_" and Kristy finally quieted down to waggle her brows rather suggestively, "_Ye know, the good ooole 'quinny-quencher'? And be it so, how many?_"

"For the love o'-," Maren slid her a hand over her groggy features and shook her head, "Nothin, it's nothin'. Just one hell o' a wake up call from a hauntin' whore two shakes from an exorcism if she do'n clam up already!"

"_PET GOT LAID!_

_GOT LAID, GOT LAID!_

_PET GOT LAID!_

_HALLELUJAH!_"

But the ghost was far too jubilant to be assuaged by idle threats, as she sang a very liberal version of the "Messiah" at the top of her apparitional lungs.

0000000

Great splashes of mango and burgundy colored the sky as the Caribbean sun birthed the horizon, illuminating the clear water on a white beach. And upon its shore, a curious collection of sweating pirates fiddling with cargo and longboats, two lovely women talking excitedly in hushed tones, and two men surveying the early morning scene, one happier then usual, insanely, insatiably, and obnoxiously _happy_.

The whistling was starting to affect Will's nerves.

Yes, he could stand the smirks, the snickers, and the telltale smile. The inflated presence, the endless strutting, and exaggerated felicity might very well be considered charming, if not for the early morning hour. And admittedly, the blatant innuendoes and the flashy way in which Jack flamboyantly adjusted his collar to show off a rusty love-bite at the base of his proud throat were comedic in their own way, even though Will decided to deliberately play the gentlemen and pretend he hadn't a clue what Jack was on about. Unfortunately, Jack took Will's polite discount as an intolerable ignorance to the important message Jack was subtlety attempting to display and started to nudge him hard enough to bruise, pointedly winking and nodding towards Maren. Apparently, Jack had never held either Will's intelligence or perception in high regard. Still, all this could be tolerated by the blacksmith's quiet patience; however, that piercing, deliberately cheerful, teeth-grinding whistle was too much for any man's fortitude to take.

"All right then!" Will exploded, startling both the band of pirates loading the swords into the final rowboat and the pair of whispering women, Maren and Elizabeth, down the beach, but Jack, the very subject of the explosion remained happily impassive to Will's sudden outburst as if expecting it. "I get it, already! You got laid, Jack, ye got damn well lucky! Are you happy? Point taken, point noted, point _made_! The whole world knows! So for the love of God and all that is holy-_stop_-_that_-_whistling_!" A loose curl fell from the young man's tie and hung mockingly in his face, causing him to pause and abruptly blow it away with righteous indignation.

Gasping, Maren cast an accusing glare at Jack from afar.

"Did'n _say_ a word, luv," he held out his arms in defense and shouted with total disregard for discretion, technically faultless, "Littl' William has the most uncanny powers o' perception, spooky really. Wonder if ye two be relat'd?" He itched his chin in mock contemplation.

The medium snorted, purposely turning her back to him and praying that somehow Will's outburst went unnoticed by the men at work securing the wares to the longboat. No such luck. Immediately, rodent like snickers made her ears burn and some of those dirty scoundrels actually started to applaud Jack, who encouraged those ruffians by bowing!

"Ignore them," Elizabeth rolled her eyes and tactfully adjusted the shawl she had lent Maren to cover Jack's nipping mark atop her cleavage, "Men are like dogs, they must instinctively mark their territory."

"Bet Will's not like that," huffing, Maren fumed as the pirates cheered and egged Jack on behind her.

"You would be surprised," vaguely, Elizabeth responded, staring off at the rolling waves with a dazed expression of sheer satisfaction.

"_And ye'd be surpris'd, how we be not all that surpris'd,_" Kristy added matter of fact, insinuating all that they had spied in the smithy.

"May I ask you something, Maren?" shaking off her daydream and darting careful glances about them, Elizabeth leaned closer to Maren, her whisper fraught with suspenseful curiosity, "Was Jack, oh my, I cannot believe I'm asking this! Was he _gentle_?"

They exchanged blank looks and wide eyes, before bright smiles and merry giggles broke the embarrassment. Immediately, they shushed each other like school girls and glimpsed nervously behind them to check on husband and pirate who stood at a discreet distance, attempting to appear innocent and smiled, waving. Elizabeth quickly took Maren's hand and they skipped further along the shoreline, skirts kicked up in the wind and cheeks red, snickering all the way until they were breathless from the short frolic and the laughter.

Upon reaching a modest location away from Jack's sharp ears, Maren stopped them, unable to hold back her enthusiasm anymore and burst out, "Oh, it be the most wondrous experience o' me life thus far, and believe ye me, that's really sayin' somethin', that 'tis!" They clasped hands tightly as Maren shared her blushing 'secret', "He start'd out gentle, o' well, a gentleness o' sorts I should say," modesty forced her to bite her lip, in suitable bashfulness, "But then! Oh but then, he suddenly 'came kind o' _rough_ on me, only, I did'n mind it like I reckon'd I would. Nay, in fact I kind o'...I sort o'-."

"Liked it?" Elizabeth supplied.

"Lov'd it!" Maren exploded.

Kristy literally began jumping in place, "_Ooo! Pet, tell her 'bouts the dirty talk! Tell her 'bouts how he fancies the dirty talk!_"

"And did he-?" attempting to prompt her meaning, Elizabeth gestured vaguely at her, "Oh dear God, how do I say? Did he..._take care_ of you?" She winked and raised one arched eyebrow.

Not immediately did Maren answer, instead she looked oddly perplexed.

A short snigger and Elizabeth tried again, "Come on, you know, did you _have_ one?"

"One what?" a slight ebb of panic and confusion lined Maren's naive voice.

Any playfulness in Elizabeth vanished. Uh-oh, jesting about good sex was one thing, but teasing about bad sex was quite another. Suddenly, Elizabeth laid a gentle hand on Maren's shoulder, pity written all over her face, "Are you saying, you didn't..._climax_?" She grimaced how the word sounded so formal and technical coming from her mouth. Only she could make sex sound so _medical_.

"Climax? I-I do'n understand..."

Sweet Jesus, were those actual tears in Maren's bewildered eyes? The poor thing, Elizabeth was swept over by guilt, thinking she had embarrassed the innocent girl, but then she noticed how said 'innocent girl' was biting her lip, shaking with silent laughter, and turning red from holding her breath.

"Why you!" Elizabeth attacked her with pinches, while Maren roared with suppressed guffaws, "You lying hussy! I truly believed you hadn't the faintest clue what I was talking about!"

A particular vicious poke forced Maren to squeal loudly and retreat back along the beach, never halting her teasing laughter. "By the way," she called back as Elizabeth gave chase, "In answer to yer inquiry, I did'n just have _one_," three gloating fingers were procured proudly while she ran, stumbling backwards, "Had meself three o' them _climaxes_," she mimicked Elizabeth's prim and stringent voice.

"Oh sure," Elizabeth hoisted her skirts higher in order to sprint after the medium faster, "And now I'm supposed to believe you!" But in all honesty, knowing Jack Sparrow or at least what she had heard about his amorous escapades, Elizabeth did believe it!

Meanwhile, Jack and Will indulged in their own private gossip, still atop the sand dune above the rowboats. Coincidently, the pirate captain was presenting three ringed fingers to Will, "Three times, mate, I mean, it's certainly not like me to brag-," here Will rolled his brown eyes heavenward but stayed his witty retort, "but three be such an impressive figure in all modesty, good sturdy number, three–_watch_ them knots, ye lazy ravenous dogs! I'll not be havin' me armaments strewn 'bout the ocean floor!" Jack barked at the crew members below, before tilting his head to the side and muttering into Will's ear, "However, there does exist the slightest tinge of remorse in me otherwise good continence...I've absolutely ruin'd her future sexual exploits." The familiar crease crossed Will's brow as he frowned at Jack, so the pirate furthered, "After all, she's probably under the distorted representation that _all_ sex is in essence, incredible, it bein' her very _first_ time and all." A genuinely shocked choke sounded as the blacksmith blinked at Jack, "What a nasty surprise it shall be, when one day some clumsily, inept sod shall prove her wrong."

"Wait a moment Jack, are you trying to tell me that _that_," gesturing an exaggerated hourglass of a figure, clearly meant to represent the vigorous curves of Maren's form, Will asked, incredulous, "was a virgin?"

"Aye," Jack smirked, his gold teeth flashing, "'twas a virtual crime for her to remain in such a sorry state, to be sure."

"A virgin in Tortuga?"

"Bloody miracle, I know."

Will cast a thoughtful, sidelong look at him, "Tread carefully, Captain, perhaps Maren is not so casual in her affections as others. Do you truly know what you may be getting yourself into?"

Screeching laughter rose over the hush of the waves and Maren came suddenly into view, followed close by Elizabeth. There was a mighty shriek as Elizabeth pounced, wrapping her graceful arms around the medium's corseted waist and they spun about in dizzying circles, tickling each other without mercy. "Jesus Holy Christ," Jack gasped and Will gawked at the entwined sirens dancing about in play, utterly breathtaking, "Now that's a sight that'll haunt me dreams for many a long nights to come."

Will attempted to respond, but what can only be accurately described as an overwhelmed whimper fell from his gaping lips.

"I'll second that," watching with perverted interest, Jack very nearly swallowed his own tongue when Maren, having succeeded in pinning Elizabeth's arms behind her back, smacked a friendly kiss upon her cheek, before releasing her to sprint away again. "Mother have mercy," he wiped invisible drool from his mouth, "how ye fancy forcin' yer way into that particularly pleasurable brawl, eh?"

Finally, Will recovered his voice, "That is my wife you're referring to," but upon receiving Jack's patented _stare_, he begrudgingly broke down, "and yes, I would _fancy_-nay, I would _desire_ nothing more then the wondrous opportunity to press myself between those two pillars of feminine grace before us and relish in divine beauty until the day I merrily perish, thank you very much!"

"Ye do'n have to get all 'poetic' on me," tsk-ing, Jack rolled his eyes, "a simple 'I'd fuck 'em wild,' would've sufficed."

Will huffed, "I really don't think you know what you're getting yourself into at all."

0000000

So they left Port Royal.

Two distant figures waved from the beach while two figures in the retreating rowboat waved back, more watery distant falling between them.

"He looks like his father," Jack spoke softly, only Maren who was seated beside him could hear, "more and more, every day."

She studied his distant expression, before treading carefully, "I know what ye said 'bouts dead peoples 'round ye, stayin' dead and all." His face remained turned to the shore, but Jack's kohl eyes fell on her with vague suspicion, so she hurried her explanation, "But I figures ye should know, at least, that Bootstrap Bill- he is'n hauntin'. He's not trapp'd like Barbossa is." Unconsciously, she paused for Jack's reaction, but all Maren received was silence and that unreadable stare, "Please do'n be mad at me, but I check'd through Will while he was sleepin'. I could'n help it, I saw what they-what they...did to Bill and I jus-I just had to make sure he was'n still sufferin', is all."

"And?" Jack said quietly, his face blank.

"And," Maren continued, "Bill rests. He's safe now, he's happy, it's finally over for him."

"Did ye speak with him?"

"No, only check'd," she repeated, " to make sure."

They sat together in quiet repose for many long moments, the splash of the oars lapping at the water and grunting conversations of the rowing pirates behind them filling the void. Finally, Jack raised his calloused hand to Maren's cheek and ran the pad of his thumb over her lip, "Thank ye."

The honest gratitude, seemingly so uncharacteristic in Jack, embarrassed Maren and her face flushed, turning away. However, that blush was a fetish that Jack simply couldn't pass up and he laid one hand, fingers splayed, on her knee, inching upwards over curvy thighs, "I really should warn ye, Maren-me-dove." Before those nimble digits could reach the juncture of her thighs, Maren abruptly halted their progression by grabbing Jack's wrist and glaring at him. "Life at sea 'taint all swashbucklin' and pillagin'. Nay, sometimes when the wind be dead and the tide be slow, the days seem like they stretch on forever and the nights become eternities."

Cocking his head, Jack leaned in close to Maren's ear and whispered hotly, tangled hair falling into a curtain around his face, "But ifen an amicable, young barmaid was awaitin' in me nice, big bed with bottle o' rum at ready and legs spread, well, that should cure any cabin fever in two licks." Maren didn't even possess the frame of mind to comment on Jack's terrible pun; instead, her breath turned shaky and she unconsciously wet her lips. The hand that held Jack's wrist went limp, allowing the pirate to caress her inner thigh once more, "Such fun we'll have, Maren. Why think o' all the games we can play." An erotically wet tongue traced the shell of Maren's ear and she was utterly helpless against the whimper that escaped her mouth, though she belatedly attempted to cover the noise with her hand, but too late, the suddenly interested pirates rowing the longboat had stopped their chatter and listened nonchalantly to the hushed conversation. Jack ignored them, leaning back with legs crossed at the ankles, body reclined, and elbows propped up on the hub of the rowboat. "Sweetheart, I'm goin' to teach ye everythin' I know."

"_Reckon I could be teachin' ye a thin' o' two Sparrow-,_" Kristy had every intention of detailing exactly what those degenerate lessons might be, but quickly fell silent. Someone was _watching_ her. Now to a laymen, the vague burn of someone's stare is easily overlooked or ignored as easily dismissed as a change in the wind. However to a ghost not used to being seen by anyone, save Maren of course, being watched was not only a novelty, but also a noticeable event. Hurriedly and somewhat paranoid, Kristy spun about, scanning for the watcher. Still there was only the living men in the boat and a stretch of clear water to an empty shore, no other haunts in sight. Just when she was about to disregard the whole event, Kristy instinctively glanced up.

The rowboat was finally upon the ship and right above her upturned head, gazing sightlessly, was the figurehead of the Black Pearl, perfectly posed with sparrow in hand. Kristy glared at it as they steered around the hull of the ship. It remained steadfastly inanimate, so lifeless, so wooden. Perhaps she had imagined it...

...holy shit, it moved! It moved!

It was only a flinch, only the slightest of shifts, but Kristy was positive she saw it! The heavy lids of those shawdowless eyes had fallen barely a breath, but fall they did, as if to return Kristy's glare. Now whether the figurehead moved on a physical or supernatural level, Kristy couldn't say for sure, yet she had the sinking feeling no one else but her would've acknowledged seeing the impossible.

Admittedly, the boat was sentient on some level, Kristy had sensed that her first time boarding the Black Pearl. Many places, usually structures such as houses, prisons, or churches were left with some sort of queer impression that given many years of death and birth might manifest into a more innate perception. Still, by no stretch of the imagination could these places ever be considered 'thinking' or 'feeling' beings. The Pearl was proving to be different and difficult. Perhaps Kristy could've dismissed the 'watching' as she had done before when she first boarded the Pearl, but no amount of delusion could hide the fact that the figurehead had undeniably _moved_.

"_Either ye be rubbin' off on this bloody boat, Pet,_" she addressed Maren who would have rather continued staring at Jack's mischievous tongue swiping teasingly along his chapped lips then listen to the silly paranoia of her resident ghost, "_O' that Aztec curse did._" The figurehead remained frozen under Kristy's scrutiny, until the dead whore's temper snapped, "_Ye buck-tooth'd bitch! What the fuck ye ganderin' at, eh! Got a problem? Want one!_"

Jack noticed that Maren's attention was no longer on him, an intolerable act in itself, but hovering somewhere over the rowboat. Her face was scrunched in bewildered confusion with a sprinkle of uncertainty. "What? What is it?" he glanced about, having a medium about surely made for some intensely odd moments.

"I think me ghost's pickin' a fight with yer ship," dumbfounded, she replied.

He paused for a moment and genuinely contemplated this new information. "Who's winnin' then?" he chuckled.

Finding the humor in the situation as uncanny as Jack did, Maren laughed too, "Well she's still just pissin' in the breeze, but ifen it comes to a brawl, I'll wager two crowns on me Kristy o'er yer Pearl."

"Sounds like a fine gamble to me. Let it be two crowns on the Pearl then."

"Jack?"

"Aye Maren, me sweet."

"Can I borrows two crowns?"

Jack laughed even louder, waggling a clever finger at her as the other hand clasped onto the rope ladder that was tossed down, "Spoken like a true professional gambler!" With no ceremony, Jack hoisted himself up the ropes, leaving Maren a tad affronted. Wouldn't a proper gentleman have offered her the ladder first and aided in her ascent? 'Pirate,' she answered her own daft question, then addressed Kristy over her shoulder, 'Ye comin' o' be there some plank ye fancy chewin' out first?'

Her wraith arms crossed in bad temper and sitting stubbornly in the longboat, Kristy yelled back, "_Soddin' boats should not be 'thinkin' period, so says I!_"

'Aye, too right, Kristy,' rolling her eyes and stating in an overly sarcastic drawl, Maren adjusted her skirts and proceeded to climb the rope ladder, 'Ye tell 'em, set those boaty buggers straight. _Boats do'n think_.'

...the tiniest of winds whispered over the sails to caress the sea and upon this sprite of breath came the inconceivable _feeling_...

"_...what...are...you..._"

But neither the floating spirit or climbing medium heard this manifestation as they ascended to the top deck, of course that is only if there truly was anything to hear...

0000000

"_Aye, but we're loved by_

_Our mummies and dads,_

_Drink up me hearties, yo ho!_"

"Elizabeth," Will semi-groaned and pouted, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing plump lips to her neck, "Not that song again. It's bad enough you taught it to Jack."

Missus Turner stopped her singing, but kept up a thrumming hum.

In the distant horizon, the Black Pearl was fading from sight, dark sails shining like a forbidden jewel amidst a satin pillow of blue. Long they watched on the beach, Will and Elizabeth, hypnotized by the spell the Pearl cast on so many, whispering her great promises of adventures and freedom. And even if one could resist her wiles, she still managed to sail away with a stolen dream so secret and buried you wouldn't even know it was there until you saw her sailing away with it, leaving only a melancholy yearning in her wake.

But she always left you feeling more alive then ever before, almost as if she spoke aloud, 'I've won, I've won!'

The crease in his handsome brow formed again as a problem arose in Will's thoughts. "Elizabeth," he said again, slightly worried, "What exactly should we tell Commodore Norrington about Maren's sudden departure from us?"

Gradually, Elizabeth stopped humming and appeared very thoughtful, "I suppose we could tell him she's pregnant."

The urge to laugh was so forceful, Will actually chocked on his own spit.


	23. The Cold Shoulder

_Twenty-three: The Cold Shoulder_

"All hands on deck! Cap'n aboooard!" the shrill caw of Anamaria pierced the air, along with hurried booted steps and the clamber of many able bodied men. Maren could not see any of this, because she was still struggling up the rope ladder, her skirts catching in the wind, threatening to blow her away like a kite.

She also heard annoying catcalls waft up from below her as the pirates aboard the rowboat spied up her petticoats. 'Bloody pantalets,' fuming, she reached the deck of the Pearl and hoisted herself awkwardly over the railing, 'Now the whole world's seen me knees!' There was an ungraceful _thump_ when Maren fell onto the deck on her hands and knees, "Ouch-damn it!" The entire mass of assembled pirates cast wary glares in her direction, one or two crossed themselves, and even over the salty smell of the ocean, there was the distinct and pungent odor of garlic.

'Gots meself a nasty feelin', like the family bastard at a will readin',' Maren communicated to Kristy and tried to ignore the many pirates taking a cautious step away from her, 'Somethin' tells me I be the subject o' some malicious gossip.' Attempting to regain what little dignity she could, she rose unsteadily to her feet and straightened out her skirts. Upon her movement, every single pirate swivelled one eye towards her. Maren froze, the center of such scrupulous attention.

Jack, seemingly impervious, not to mention discourteous to Maren's situation, was already striding to the upper deck, taking the steps two at a time. Kristy suddenly felt the obscure presence of the Black Pearl 'observing' him with the vaguest sense of contentment.

"_Maren,_" she hissed, wary of drawing the ship's universal 'attention' back to them, "_Ye feel that? Did ye feel that?_"

'Ye referrin' to the itchy mob o' pirates two shakes from burin' me sorry arse for witchcraft?'

"_No, the boat, stupid!_" her wraith fist flailed about, "_The soddin' boat just welcom'd Jack home!_"

Mindful to keep her facial expressions a clear mask for the benefit of the wary throng before her, Maren sighed, 'Kristy, ye be _so_ bizarre.'

"_Pet-!_" but Maren interrupted the ghost's ranting with some of her own.

'Has it escap'd yer uncanny, but misplaced, attentions that the majority o' the crew be ganderin' at me likes I was Lucifer's whore?' she barked. 'I have meself a seriously bigger problem then 'thinkin' ships! What a shit state I'm in,' ending in self-pity, Maren smiled sweetly in hopes of assuaging the damage done, but the reaction she received was not heartening. Several men jumped in fright and one particularly superstitious fellow outright screamed.

Meanwhile, Jack arrived at his place atop the proverbial mountain, as magnificent as any Caesar. "Good mornin', tri'd and true gentlemen o' fortune," his arms spread high, Jack boomed impressively from his place on the upper deck; immediately all eyes shot straight at him, much to Maren's relief. "As promis'd, I have here-," grandly, he gestured to the remaining longboat being hefted up by the pulleys, "an armanment o' swords craft'd by the master swordsman himself, Will Turner, son o' the great Bootstrap Bill , _godresthissoul_," he muttered as an aside and saluted his fingertips to his temple.

The crew followed suite with hats removed, "_Godresthissoul_," they chorused respectfully.

"'Tis my intention, that every man," mindful, Jack tilted his head towards Anamaria who was suspiciously detached from the current events, "and woman, 'board the Black Pearl should receive one." A dramatic and self-serving pause was inserted while the men enthusiastically cheered. If there was one thing Jack enjoyed about captaining, it was crowd control! "Use it well, use it with pride, but most importantly, use it in the service o' the Pearl," he started with voice raised like a priest before the congregation, but finished with a wicked smile and malicious growl, "so take care o' it. 'Cause if I hear 'bouts any o' you half-wit bitches pawnin' yer sword o' losin' at a game o' cards o' some other equally daft thin', by the devil hiself, I shall personally flog that bastard til his own mother feels the sting!" Another pause for emphasis, "Have we an accord boys?"

"Aye sir!" was the prompt and unison reply.

"Splendid," clapping his hands and rubbing them together, Jack caught sight of Maren who was standing slightly apart from the crowd, forced more by circumstance then by choice, "Ye shall receive yer insignia swords tonight at Miss Attle's Pledge and Mark. Now have off, ye bastards, there's a ship to sail." Captain Sparrow spun about on his heel, effectively ending the speech, but a low murmur hushed over the pirates and as one they all glanced at Maren. She gulped rather loudly, watching while they finally dispersed.

'Kristy?' Maren addressed her in silence, 'Remind me o' the nautical significance o' a _Pledge and Mark_?'

"_Oh so now ye be wantin' me two pence?_" the ghost gloated, "_Do'n be a silly twit, Pet. Mark be a sailor's contract to the Articles o' ship and cap'n._"

'And Pledge?' she asked warily, fearing she half-knew the answer already.

"_Pledge to the Code,_" a brief stall before a noncommital shrug, "_supposin' ye could calls it an oath to piracy, that 'tis ifen pirates even give oaths._"

The medium, about to become reluctant pirate, moaned.

"Cabin boy!" sashaying down the steps, Jack's mood was shining impossibly bright through his mannerisms, his hands and arms dancing about in wild prurience. After all, last night had been an exceptionally gratifying experience, now followed by the comfort and pleasures of the Pearl. Why shouldn't he be gleeful? And as if those two episodes were not enough, tonight he would combine them! Needless to say, Jack was in a very merry way while he approached Maren, Nathan dutifully at heel, "Take Miss Attle's parcels and escort her down to her room."

"Jack, er-Cap'n Sparrow," tugging at his sleeve, Maren spoke in quiet tones, "I ne'er said nothin' bouts bein' a pirate!"

This put a heavy anchor on Jack's mirth and he immediately froze, boggled over. _Nothing about being a pirate!_ Where in hot Hell did that come from? Not a pirate! Ridiculous! So he stated as such, "Do'n be absurd me dear! Ye yerself agreed to 'board and service the Pearl, must I 'mind ye."

"Aye, but as medium not as pirate," she lifted a finger in protest.

"So?" scoffing, he shrugged, "When a doctor's 'board he becomes a _pirate_ doctor, savvy? When Mister Terrel 'board'd, he became a _pirate_ carpenter, to be sure. Why we do'n call Mister Gimmings _plain-ole_ gunner, do we? Nay, he be a _pirate_ gunner. Ergo, ye shall become a _pirate_ medium."

"Cap'n Sparrow," pleading, Maren could even now feel the burn of dozens of wary eyes upon her, "Piracy be, well, a really drastic step for one. I means no offense, but it makes return to 'civiliz'd society absolutely impossible. They _hang_ pirates, Jack! No questions ask'd, no mercy receiv'd!"

"Then might I suggest steerin' clear o' all manner o' authority," Jack placed his graceful hands on her shoulder, fingers tapping rhythmically, "Unlesson o' course ye simply ca'n bare bein' separat'd from yer strappin' upright Commodore."

"No need to be vindictive, Cap'n," vainly, Maren tried not to acknowledge the flirtatious wink he smirked down at her, but a budding smile inadvertently shone through. What was it about this man that either made her want to scream or laugh? Her heart rapped loudly, but again she attempted to reason with him, "I'm not quite pirate material, am I though?"

For a few moments, Jack's brassy, smoky laughter warmed her ears. He shook his head in jovial denial and started numbering off on his fingers, "Rais'd by a whore, swears like a sailor come Sunday, condemn'd as outcast, fugitive in hidin' for ten years, ye hold yer liquor akin to any man, will lie and con to escape a fix-."

"I do not!" Maren interrupted in a great huff.

Sparrow wasn't fazed in the least, instead he cleared his throat, "Shall I refresh yer dainty memory? 'Oh Jaaack'," he sang in fallsetto, batting his thick eyelashes, "'Take me to yer cabin and make mad, passionate luv to me, so I can steal yer pistol and point it at yer head while yer balls turn blue!' Sound familiar, sweet dove?" Having won that particular point, Jack continued the countdown, "Where was I? Oh yes, will lie and con to escape a fix, ye drink like a fish half-drown'd, bets money ye do'n have-."

"That 'twas a joke!"

Unabashed, he kept listing, "Ye fight dirty-and do'n ye dare argue with that, lest I remind both ye and me jewels 'bouts that god-awful kick! And did I mention ye drink a lot?"

"Hallo pot?" snorted Maren, "This be kettle, 'yer black!'"

"Face it luv, ye were born a pirate and it be time to contend with it," but Maren didn't seem swayed. Time to pull out the big canons, no matter how lowdown and crafty the artillery was. Oh, Jack knew it was a wicked terrible trick to play, but Jack was hellbent on Maren turning pirate. Imagine the Black Pearl stocked with a medium at ready, how positively infamous! Maren _had_ to stay, no bones about it. Therefore, Jack justified what he said next, in all its dubious manipulation, "It would...please me, Maren." Long he stared into her eyes, brows drawn together in earnest, utterly serious, almost begging.

Her stomach hit her throat! Every overwhelming symptom of lovesickness hit her at the exact same time, breath held, palms sweaty, flush to the face, and rushing blood in the ears. Jack couldn't have achieved a more profitable reaction unless he had thrown himself to his knees and proposed marriage. He wanted her to stay! Mutely, she nodded.

"Excellent," the intense spell between them broke as Jack resumed his slurring and swaying, "Boy! To Miss Attle's room. Hurry up now, then 'port to Gimmings for tarrin'."

"Aye sir," encumbered with Maren's new wardrobe, Nathan hustled quickly away, not one word or glance in Maren's direction. Maren made to follow, but squeaked in indignant surprise as Jack playfully pinched her backside while she passed. In retaliation, she socked his arm and scurried away.

The hot burn of Jack's eyes followed her swishing hips until she disappeared below deck. Tonight would be such fun...

Maren walked briskly behind Nathan, sadly noting how the once exuberant boy made no attempt to talk, look, or otherwise acknowledge the medium. In fact, the cabin boy seemed quite desperate to ignore her presence altogether. Before entering the narrow hallway that lead to Maren's quarters, they had to stand aside for a hustling sailor to pass, whistling in a teeth-grindingly cheery way. It was Cupid Thomas, the unfortunate pirate that had given chase to Maren in Port Royal, sporting a new bruise, bright and blue, across his pretty jaw.

"_Bug-fucker!_" in way of greeting, Kristy shouted.

Catching sight of Maren, Cupid paused for a moment and stared thoughtfully at her. His fingers rose to his discolored face and traced the bruise there, courtesy of Will Turner. She shivered under his scrupled stare and anxiously waited for his reaction. Finally, he smirked down at her, "Miss Attle."

"Mister Thomas," she returned the smile nervously.

That queer leer remained screwed in place as he walked away, Maren's eyes peering after him, wary.

"_Bye bug-fucker!_" Kristy waved. The impatient and ungraceful stomps of Nathan clamoring down the hall, spun Maren about and after the brooding boy. Nudging the door open, Nathan unceremoniously dropped her things in the middle of the cabin and swiftly moved to retreat. However, Maren barred the door, hands on hips and eyes sharp.

"_Ye do'n reckon the littl' pecker be jealous?_" the ghost also inspected the cabin boy.

'That's not a broken crush, Kristy,' answering, Maren sighed, 'That's fear, that's what 'tis."

"C-cap'n says I'm to 'ports to Mister Gimmings for tar work," his voice cracked, causing both medium and phantom to flinch, "Ca'n keep 'em waitin' none."

"Nathan," she cooed sweetly, leaning down to his eye-level and ensuring her cleavage puffed out in the most enticing way possible, "Why so quiet, eh? What all these strange looks for? Just two days 'go me and ye were the best o' pals, gabbin' away like. What happen'd?" A tiny flick of the tongue over her mauve lips and Nathan almost stopped breathing, "Perhaps someone's be tellin' nasty rumors 'bouts me? Ye hear anythin', Nathan dear?"

The pale boy erupted in stutters and sputters, "I-I-I, ye s-see...why-i-it's j-j-just." His posture withered limply and he stared a long moment at the floorboards to rally himself. At last, he took a big breath and exploded out, "Did ye cast a spell on Anamaria!"

"What?" the shock in Maren's voice was genuine.

"_Uh-oh,_" Kristy mumbled, having completely forgotten about Anamaria and the dead man they contacted to distract her, Charles Dumaus.

"Everybody's been sayin' that ye hex'd Anamaria! That ye us'd witchcraft to escape! That ye be a witch!" here, Nathan's voice faltered and it took a couple panicked gulps to continue, "Be it true? Ye a witch, Miss Attle?"

A familiar pang twisted in Maren's heart, but she resolutely kept her cool, "Nay, I'm no witch."

"But what happen'd to Anamaria?" his question was frantic, eyebrows risen high in desperation to believe her, "She's barely talk'd these pass two days, not even to rant and rave! Do'n eat o' sleep, we hear her pacin' on deck all night. _Somethin'_ must o' happen'd. The crew figures she be curs'd."

"The crew can stuff their heads up their arse for all they know," a scathing retort sounded behind Maren, startling her as she recognized the speaker. Anamaria was in the doorway and she didn't look happy, "And ye boy, can scurry yer arse up deck. There be hot tar and planks waitin' on ye." Yet Nathan remained still, gaze darting uncertainly between Maren and Anamaria. She lost her patience, "Move boy!"

"Cap'n order'd all crewmasters to his cabin-," he desperately tried to snap back, but his words withered when he was subjected to Anamaria's glower, "...y-ye should best be headin' top deck with me. Cap'n wo'n want ye here."

"Be a cold day in hell, 'fore I jumps on orders from a cabin boy," grinding her teeth, Anamaria stepped aside from the doorway and pointed one long, dramatic finger, "Out!" He worried his lip with his teeth, but finally relented, brushing past Anamaria and scrunching his brow as he looked back at Maren, anxiety painted all over his face.

The lady pirate slammed the door shut behind him, barely missing his heel. She kept her back to Maren, her body tense.

"_Shit, she's come for a fight. Hit her with somethin', Pet! Hurry!_"

Actually, the thought had already occurred to Maren and she was already scanning the room for some sort of weapon. The question was, how quickly could she grab for something before Anamaria started after her? And what if Anamaria was armed with a weapon of her own? A pistol perhaps? There was no outrunning a bullet. Maybe Maren could make it to the door...

Anamaria suddenly spun about and reflexively Maren stepped back, readying herself for an assault, but none came.

"What happen'd to Charlie?" her lips quivered slightly and her coffee eyes glistened with cold tears, too stubborn to fall. Needless to say, this was not what Maren had expected. The dark woman's entire demeanor reeked of pitiful stress and Maren's senses picked up the purple taste of rusted pain in her soul. But there was no anger or accusation in her expression, no fights or resentment, only clear desperation and genuine worry. And under all these depressing sensations, a spark of hope in a cherished memory of love.

Noticing the hesitation in Maren, Anamaria wrung her hands and furthered, "I do'n care if 'tis witchcraft o' not. I knows me Charlie and _that_ was Charlie. What happen'd? For God's sake, ye have to tell me what happen'd that night."

"Er-," stalled Maren. One of Jack's conditions had been not to reveal the workings of her powers to anyone; yet, she had already broken this condition while attempting to escape. It would be terribly unfair to Anamaria to be left in limbo like this.

The delay sparked more rambling from Anamaria, "That night, ye see, he promis'd to come for me, so he could marry me. Make me a right honest lady. Only, he ne'er did show." Her voice, usually so dynamic and brassy was now rasped, overstrung, and taught, "Everybody in me bayette knew he was a cad. Everybody warn'd me, they said, 'Dumaus' left many a brok'n heart and empty purse in his wake, littl' Ana. He be the type o' flame that burns, so stay 'way lest ye be daft like a moth. As soon as ye puts out, he'll put up and leave ye,' aye that's what they told me. I tried to resist, I really did," defeated, she crossed to the bed and slumped down on it, eyes downcast, but a strange smile still ghosted over her lips. "But 'twas too late, Charlie was in me blood and by Jesus, I lov'd him so much," one tear almost fell, yet was vengefully wiped away with her dirty sleeve.

"That night he did'n come for me, nor the day after, nor the week. The rumors start'd rounds that time. Damn it all! Ye would think people had nothin' better to do then spread vicious gossip. Ye gots no idea how nasty words can be!" raising her smooth face, Anamaria watched Maren for a moment. "O' maybe ye do," she pondered thoughtfully. "Anyway, I runaway, shits on them! And to this day, I do'n know what happen'd that night. Did Charles Dumaus 'bandon like me brothers and father swore he would? Maybe. Me mind, me thoughts, me sense all says 'aye'...but me heart," and here she clutched at her chest in despair, "Me heart, to this very day, believes that somethin' terrible happen'd to me Charlie."

"What if-," Maren spoke slowly, "What if I finds out the truth and it's not what ye hop'd for? What if Charlie did con ye?" Taking a deep breath, she repeated Jack's advice, "Sometimes it be best to let those dead 'round us stay dead."

"No," the assurance in her voice was iron, "this I must know. Either way, I will know."

For a long time both medium and ghost studied the lady pirate; Maren with arms crossed and Kristy with hands on hips. 'What say ye?' she asked Kristy.

"_Do it, says I._"

"Very well," stepping carefully, Maren approached Anamaria and laid one gentle hand upon her cheek to raise those rich eyes to her blue ones. The _path_ was easier to follow this time around, much brighter with familiarity. She fell in a trance only for the briefest instant, discovering all she needed in a whisper of distant memory. Charles was barely even disturbed and released thankfully back to _rest_.

_The taste of impending rain filled the air and carried the smell of wet dirt. Already the wind prickled her flesh, warning her of the storm that rose in the distance. Upon her ears, the steady rhythm of hoof-steps at full gallop like a palpitating heartbeat-no wait, it was a heartbeat. And it was fading, everything was fading so fast..._

_"Oh Ana..."_

To Anamaria, the episode lasted a few seconds at most. Just one disconcerting moment in which Maren's eyes became empty and reflective and then she blinked it all away, dispelling the upset. Warmth and color returned to Maren's eyes as they fell heavy on Anamaria and the pirate waited for her answer with baited breath.

"Mister Dumaus kiss'd many women," this time a tear did escape from Anamaria's shining eyes, but Maren wiped it away with her thumb and added, "but lov'd only ye." A sob that Anamaria hadn't been aware she was restraining burst from her mouth. Immediately, Maren sat on the bed and wrapped her arms about her shoulders, but Anamaria half-heartedly tried to pull away, her pride too stubborn. However Maren was just as stubborn and finally she relented, permitting the medium to cradle her while she surrendered to silent tears.

Patient, Maren awaited the sobs to become sniffles before continuing, "He stole a horse that night to fetch ye, so he reckon'd it best to 'void the road and go through the brush, 'lessen he be caught. 'Twas," and her expression grew very sad, "on a high hill. The horse, it stumbl'd, fell...and Charlie, he did'n have to wait too long. His neck was broken, ye see."

Another heart-wrenching sob from Anamaria and Maren paused until she settled down. "Oh Charlie," clutching at Maren's sleeves, Anamaria buried her face in the medium's shoulder to cry. Then all at once those sobs started to change. She started laughing, laughing in that brassy confidant way. And though tears still marred her pretty face, there was relief and joy and validation, all struggling to shine through, "I be right...w-was right all 'long!" Suddenly, Anamaria was up and pacing and ranting to high heaven and back, stuck half-way between sobs and guffaws, "Me Charlie was comin' for me! I be right! Shows what they know, those small-mind'd bastards, the provincial littl' fools! Oh god, do'n ye see? I was right, me Charlie lov'd me an-and thems daft buggers were wrong! _Wrong_! All this time...I was _right_."

"Aye Anamaria," Maren watched Anamaria's frantic gaiting and felt her heart swell, "They were wrong. Ye be right. Feel better now?"

Desperate laughter answered her, eventually twittering away into enthusiastic snickers. "Aye, I feel a lot better then I have in a long time," her dancing eyes, still wet and red from tears, locked onto Maren's and the laughing self-consciously disappeared, leaving a sad sort of smile in its place. She said with all sincerity, "Thank ye, Miss Attle, thank ye very much. Ye'll ne'er know how much this meant to me."

"Yer very welcome."

After a few moments of genuine, but not uncomfortable, silence, Anamaria cleared her throat, "I should be off then, anyhow. Mustn't keep the Cap'n waitin'." Striding to the door, she stopped before opening it, "And do'n ye worry none 'bouts the crew and this 'witchcraft' nonsense. Stick with me tonight and I'll be takin' care o' that gossip."

"Alright," Maren walked over, smiling.

Tipping two fingers to her temple, Anamaria bowed her head and opened the door, "See ye at the Pledge and Mark. Should be interestin' havin' 'nother lady pirate 'board," she furthered thoughtfully, then hurried away down the hall.

"_Jack be right 'bouts ye,_" Kristy said, listening to Anamaria's jogging footsteps disappear, "_Ye do lie and con._"

'Perhaps,' evasively, answered Maren, 'What's the damn difference anyway? So Charlie was runnin' _'way_ from her and not _to_ her. He did still luv her, in his own way, he luv'd her.'

"_Supposin' it do'n make no difference as long as she be happy._"

'Anamaria would've still luv'd him no matter what I said.'

"_Ye did a good thing here Pet._"

Maren didn't respond, instead for some inexplicable reason she thought vaguely of Jack.

0000000

Three bejeweled fingers were thrust into his Gibbs' stubbly face, "Three times mate, I mean, it's certainly not like me to brag-," Gibbs rolled his eyes, "but three be such an impressive figure."

Anamaria burst into the captain's cabin, effectively ending Jack's gleeful gloating. Immediately, Jack noticed her earlier sulking was gone and by all outward appearances seemed back to her old self again. He exchanged a thoughtful look with Gibbs. "Son o' a bitch Jack, yer crew's been buzzin' with witch and devil talk nonstop for two days now," dropping into her seat, she propped her crossed boots up on the table, which was covered with maps, charts, and the ship's log, "Would ye control yer bleedin' dogs already?"

"Like I was just sayin'," tilting his beaded head, Jack indicated the rest of the crewmasters, six in all, including Anamaria and Gibbs. Normally there were seven, but Gimmings, the master carpenter, was overseeing hot tar on a new patch. "Any such malicious talk reflecting upon Miss Attle right now be consider'd crude gossip at worst. However, any such malicious talk _after_ Miss Attle be mark'd shall be consider'd mutiny," his kohl eyes flashed dangerously, "That will most likely squelch this 'witch' nonsense, promptly and definitively."

"But Cap'n," Gibbs cut in, apparently continuing an earlier discussion, "is Miss Attle even eligible to pledge?" The other pirates present grunted their similar concern.

His dancing hands held out to quiet his men, Jack acknowledged their interests, "Be assur'd Mister Gibbs, I have extensively examined her eligibility in this matter and find her applicable to most, if not all, the requirements for piracy."

"What 'bouts the blood?" Terrel, the half-deaf gunner, spoke louder then necessary, "spilt in battle o'er the Pearl. Even ye ca'n be ignorin' that requisite Cap'n."

"Actually," one elegant finger was procured to emphasize his point, "the Code technically states that blood must be spilt in service o' either ship o' cap'n. It does not specify _how_ the blood must be spilt and gentlemen," Jack's grin grew devilish and golden as he leaned over the table conspicuously, voice hushed and throaty. The crewmasters found themselves involuntarily mimicking his actions, "Believe me, Miss Attle has spill'd blood in me _service_, quite enthusiastically in fact."

Cheers and knowing chuckles punctuated his point nicely, all except Anamaria who snorted under her breath, "Men be such pigs."

"Suffice it to say, boys," Jack smoothed down his moustache, "there'll be one hell o' a party tonight, but business first." Gesturing to the papers and parchments before him, Jack explained, "Here's the skivvy in short form; set a course for El Carcelero, o' what's left o' it thanks to yers truly," he smirked to some private joke, "Locate Gibb's man with the info of the Spanish patrol, lay low in Carcelero 'til the opportune moments presents itself, and onward to La Cabra Robada. Any questions?"

There were always questions, no matter how clear Captain Sparrow had thought he made himself.


	24. Pledge and Mark

Censored: This chapter contains a detailed sexual encounter between Jack and Maren. It is not posted on this site.

Chapter Summary: It's official; Maren has become a pirate. In a traditional pirate ceremony, Maren pledges herself to a life of piracy and marks the Articles of the Black Pearl. This sets the crew's mind at ease about the Black Pearl's newest member. In the following pirate shindig, Maren gets a little playful and dresses up as a pirate for Jack…you can imagine Jack's reaction.

Chapter Teaser:

_ Chapter Twenty-four: Pledge and Mark_

"Article Nine," for a moment, Jack's brow furrowed, perplexed, but he rallied himself to continue with what he was reading nonetheless. Mirth etched his voice, "If at any time you meet with a prudent Woman, the Person that offers to meddle with her, without her Consent, shall suffer present Death." Turning a gleeful and broad smile to Maren, Jack asked merrily, "Well, Miss Maren Attle, do ye mark this Article?"

She blinked comically back at him, "How the ruddy hell am I suppos'd to 'meddle' with a 'prudent' woman without her consent!"

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	25. Maren's Tattoo

Censored: This chapter contains Jack performing oral sex upon Maren. It is not posted on this site.

Chapter Summary: The chapter begins with our lovers playing noughts and crosses on Jack's stomach. Later, Jack gives Maren her first lesson in swordplay. Finally, a small misunderstanding occurs when Jack catches Newall with his hands up Maren's skirt. Turns out Maren's only getting a tattoo and Jack's jealousy was all for not. The tattoo (of course) is the crest of the Black Pearl upon her thigh, identical to the tattoo upon Jack's chest. How does Jack feel about Maren now that she's branded herself with his mark?

Chapter Teaser:

_Chapter Twenty-five: Maren's Tattoo_

A very slow and very Cheshire grin grew upon Jack's tanned face. "Brilliant!" he cheered, startling Maren who had assumed her answer to be the wrong one, but apparently her cowardice was precisely what Jack was hoping for. "What a protegee ye've turn'd out to be, me sweet," cupping her face and squishing her cheeks together, Jack smacked a noisy kiss on her forehead, "Ye be positively," a peck on her nose, "absolutely-," he sucked at her bottom lip, then seemed to struggle to think of another appropriate adjective, "unequivocally-," and rallied onward, "correct! Right on the mark, sort o' speak. In a fight, ye find me and stick by me like wank to the sheets and ifen I'm not 'rounds, ye locate yerself 'nother crewmember and have them fight for ye. This swordplay should only be us'd by ye as a last resort." One graceful arm wrapped around Maren's waist and Jack pressed her along, taking a casual walk along to the stern of the ship. "Which brings me to the first rule o' duelin', luv," he smiled out to the blue horizon as he strolled, Maren fitting in so well beside him, "_Survive_. We're pirates, not gentlemen, not military men, not even yer average hard-workin', church goin' citizen. We do'n fight for honor, o' wars, not even to win. We fight to _live_, sweetheart. It just happens that 'livin' and 'winnin' often coincide when it comes to pirate battles, so 'two birds with one stone' and whatnot."

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	26. Reciprocate

Censored: This chapter contains Maren performing oral sex upon Jack (hence the name). It is not posted on this site.

Chapter Summary: Twelve years ago, the Black Pearl sacked the fort and prison of Carcelero. The Spanish trade routes never fully recovered until the building of the new fort, La Cabra Robada. Jack explains to Maren his plans to bribe a retired Spanish gunner in Carcelero for secret documents detailing Spanish maneuvers during states of emergency; then to terrorize Carcelero and spark that state of emergency. Afterwards, Jack gets to combine his two favorite activities: steering at the helm of the Black Pearl and…well, you can imagine. Meanwhile, Kristy spends some quality time with the Pearl.

Chapter Teaser:

_Chapter Twenty-six: Reciprocate_

"…yes, I am," sighing in defeat, Jack shook his head. Maren _really_ was a terrible fencer, even for a novice. Throughout the years, if there was one thing Jack understood about swordplay it was this, some people have _it_ and others don't. Unfortunately, Maren was one of those 'others'. "Look-see here, sweetheart. I'm not promisin' ye'll one day miraculously transform into some master swordsman- er, swordswoman, whatever. I won't even pretend to make ye a halfway _decent_ fencer. All I can I swear is perhaps, perchance, and just maybe ye can manage to become somewhat _competent_ 'nough to cease to be a hazard to yer own safety. How's that sound?" Jack smiled blankly at her.

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	27. Fresh Water

  
_Chapter Twenty-seven: Fresh Water_

"_Quick Pet!_" Kristy shouted from top deck, "_It be rainin'!_"

And indeed, it was. The grey hours that hovered over the ocean a little while before sunset had sprouted warm morning showers that streaked silver against the black wood of the Pearl. It was just what Maren had been waiting for. A great clamor of clang and curses and the bustling medium appeared from the stairwell, three tin basins stacked up in her arms. She wore no cloak to shield herself from the pattering weather, not seeming to mind the raindrops that dampened her hair or clothes. Instead, she busily set up the basins that she had borrowed from the mess, one after the other in a little row. To prevent the metal tubs from sliding around on the rocking deck, she carefully placed a large stone in the middle of each, then looked on approvingly as rainwater started to pool at the bottom of the bowls.

Several surrounding pirates peered curiously at her, frankly bewildered. "Miss Attle," Teller spoke up, scratching his head, "Whatya doin'?"

"Need fresh water."

"Oh," his eyes drifted from the basins to Maren and back, "Reckon Cook Brewster has some-."

Swiping several wet strands of hair from her forehead, Maren snorted, "Cap'n Sparrow says I'm not to touch the ship's drinkin' water for anythin' but drinkin'."

"Er," confused, Teller asked, "Why else would ye 'quire fresh water?"

"Fresh water has many uses," she answered evasively, nose in the air.

0000000

The concept of keyholes was not something that Nathan had never truly contemplated before this day. Really, what was there to think about? Key goes in, twist and lock, nothing goes in or out, plain and simple. It wasn't so much the actual keyhole that mattered in the equation, but the mechanics hidden in the door. So why bother reflecting on a mere byproduct of the locking process? Because, Nathan decided, keyholes were altogether far too small!

The Irish cabin boy had his face pressed against the splintered door of the guest quarters, one winking eye hovering over the controversially tiny keyhole. It cast a yellow glow over his face from the candlelight inside. Everyone once in a while, a flutter of cloth or wisp of pale hair or a flash of bare limb would pass into vision through the gap, but it was a mere glimmer of what Nathan was praying to witness. Damn the man who invented keyholes so cursedly miniscule! How was he supposed to spy on a bathing Maren through an opening no bigger then his finger?

The Black Pearl kicked underneath him as she broke over tide, heading straight to Carcelero. They were due to arrive that afternoon and Maren, mindful of an approximate week of sailing with a ship full of sweat-soaked, salt-caked, and very stinky men, was keen on washing up before returning to civilization. Not to mention, Jack's personal stench was starting to rub off on her.

So for this venture, she had recruited the help of Nathan, who was all too keen on aiding Maren in heating the rainwater she had gathered earlier that morning and delivering it personally to her cabin. What Maren didn't know was that Nathan was also keen on catching sight of her in the buff, hence the present struggle with the keyhole. Nathan shifted his weight on his sore knees and felt his heart leap (among other parts of his anatomy) as he spied nude shoulders.

The sudden sound of a throat being loudly cleared almost startled the boy out of his skin. Guiltily, he jumped to his feet and spun about to face Captain Sparrow smirking at him with his eyebrows cocked. Looking frantically from door to Sparrow, from Sparrow to door again, Nathan struggled to invent a viable excuse for his current situation, but his panicked brain was not being very corroborative. All he could manage was to sputter some sort of inarticulate apology.

To the boy's great relief, Jack didn't say a word, just chuckled softly to himself. He swaggered right past the boy and down the hall, pausing at the corner to glance over his shoulder and pointedly nod his head in Nathan's direction.

Nathan's forehead scrunched in confusion.

A little more obvious, Jack motioned again, making his beaded hair jiggle.

Nathan blinked stupidly.

Muttering and slapping his head, the pirate captain marched over to the cabin boy and grabbed him by the collar to tug him impatiently along. Some people just couldn't take a hint!

"I-I'm sorry, Cap'n sir," begged Nathan, tripping over his own feet as he was hauled after Jack, "Did'n mean no harm, honest!"

"Relax boy," releasing his shirt, Jack paternally mussed Nathan's red hair, which only bewildered the youth more, "Far be it for me to fault 'nother man for wantin' to see a naked woman." Abruptly, Jack turned a sharp right and Nathan obediently scuttled after him. They entered the iron hold, having to duck down to accommodate the low ceiling. Most of the ship's tools and supplies for haul repair and pumping were located here, tied down in an orderly fashion.

"Then," he gulped, "yer not angry with me none, Cap'n?"

Jack placed his flittering fingers against the wall as he walked further into the hold, sliding his hand along the wood. "Course not," he barked in amusement, "It only occurr'd to me that perhaps ye might fancy a more revealin' angle then the one permitt'd by that unsatisfactory keyhole." His fingers arrived around an insignificant, round knot in the woodwork and using his nails to pry it out, opened a hidden hole.

Nathan's mouth fell open, when Jack benevolently motioned, like the pope granting a pardon, for the boy to have a look. On the other side of the wall, faint splashing was heard along with Maren's cheerful humming. Jack winked wickedly and pressed a finger to his pursed lips for silence. Nodding, Nathan leapt forward and shoved his hazel eye against the gap. It took a few seconds for his vision to adjust to the soft candlelight. The secret opening was low in the guest quarters, hidden on the leeside of the dresser, and it permitted a wonderfully clear view of the resident medium.

Slightly disappointed, Nathan noticed that Maren was wearing her chemise, but luckily it appeared as though she had only recently put it back on, because it still clung to her wet skin in ways that made Nathan's voice crack. Her damp hair leaked more water along her shift, adding quite pleasantly to the 'wet linen effect'. She was presently washing laundry in one of her steaming basins and when she turned to grab a pair of stockings, Nathan witnessed the bodice stick intimately over her generous bust. Giddy excitement pulsed in his blood. The shift was practically transparent! And was that a pink nipple he spied! Sweet siren, the God of Cabin Boys was feeling magnanimous today!

Giving Nathan a friendly rap on the back, Jack leaned over and whispered in a slur, "After she's done bathin', mind ye clean up in here when yer finish'd, savvy? I'll be very piss'd if I return here and step in somethin' _unpleasant_." Conspicuously, he tapped his nose and rose to leave Nathan to it. After all, Jack mused, every strapping, young lad should have a decent wank every now and again; good for the heart and Maren wouldn't belittle something that was beneficial to the lad's general health, would she?

"Lookin' like she done bathin', sir," Nathan whispered back, informative and helpful, but not moving an inch from his place over the crack, "She be doin' yer laundry now."

"My what?" his eyes wide and panicked, Jack inadvertently shoved Nathan aside rather roughly and peered through the hole. There was Maren, flushed pink from her recent wash, now scrubbing one of Jack's dingy, white shirts. Why of all the daft things! "No!" Jack stood up and ran as fast as one can while bent over, bursting out into the corridor and still reciting his denial, "No, no, no! No good, stop! Halt!" Nathan gawked after him, then with one last stolen glance at partially clad Maren, begrudgingly replaced the knot into its opening, deciding that Cap'n Sparrow might not appreciate being spied on, especially when he was bellowing that loudly.

_BANG!_ The door was swiftly kicked open.

Oh Christ in Heaven, she cleaned!

Maren shrieked in surprise and covered herself and her chemise with the soapy shirt, but relaxed marginally when she realized it was only her eccentric lover, wide-eyed and fuming. Overhead, tied to the bedposts, were two lines of twine that Maren had borrowed from the galley hold. Strewn about on these makeshift clotheslines was a large part of Jack's assorted wardrobe, now soggy and lye smelling.

"My clothes," near hysterics, Jack stormed over to a pair of trousers and ripped them down, "The clothes are clean!"

"Aye," puffing out her considerable chest and smiling proudly, Maren nodded, "The clothes are clean."

"Why are the clothes clean?"

"Well," Maren humphed, "I decid'd since ye already order'd me to play seamstress and sew yer damn buttons back on yer waistcoat-."

"Hey, ye break it, ye fix it. Ye're the one that tore them off, might I minds ye!"

"Did'n hear ye complainin' at the time!"

His temper sparking, Jack started pacing in agitation and his arms flailed about, "But _why_ are the clothes clean!"

"'Causin' I could'n stand the stench o' them anymore," Maren brandished her hands around to equal Jack's feverish gestures, "How do ye 'pects me to replace them buttons ifen me eyes wo'n stop waterin' from the smell? And once me mind was set to be washin' that waistcoat, I went 'head and scrubb'd the rest o' it! Got a problem with that, _Cap'n_!" having said the word 'captain' as one would say 'plague rat'.

"Aye," frustrated with palms itching to shake some sense into Maren, Jack threw his fresh britches into the closest basin, "Washin' is the worst thin' for clothes, ye stupid git. Rinses the warmth right out o' them, that's _common knowledge_, that 'tis."

"That's _bullshit_, that 'tis."

"-and the stitches unravel and the threads break and the fabric fringes! In a matter o' weeks those clothes will be nothin' but tatter'd ruins-."

"No, they _were_ in 'tatter'd ruins'. I should know, should'n I? I just spent near two hours sewin' up rips, and hems, and tears, and slits, and bloody, bleedin' bullet holes!" she began to shout, "_Bullet holes_, Jack! Is it too much to be expectin' a wee bit o' gratitude, considerin' I didn' even want to be ye damn seamstress in the first place!"

"Who ask'd ye then, woman!" he hollered back, approaching her like a cat prowls, "Seamstress maybe, but I only want'd ye to fix the buttons _ye_ ripp'd off! Never _ever_ did I order ye to act as a laundress!" They were nose to nose, breathing in each other's hot breaths. Chocolate and indigo eyes flashed dangerously at each other. A brief staring contest ensued.

Jack hissed, "Why are the clothes clean?"

Maren seemed to deflate a little, "…I just want'd to do somethin' nice…for ye."

…such a clever bitch, a haggard sigh fell from Jack's lips. "Damn it," he muttered to himself and abruptly surrendered his temper for a more satisfying emotion, delivering a lip-crushing kiss. Squeaking, Maren quickly overcame her surprise and returned the bruising embrace with equal passion. He was squeezing her arms and stealing her very breath away. Abruptly, Jack released her, feeling properly sated for the moment.

Brushing their noses together in a teasing manner, he spread his arms out with opened palms as if to placate her. "Look, I 'ppreciate the thought. It be quite evident ye thought ye were doin' me a favor and that's somewhat sweet, I'll concede. But people have certain standards as it pertains to pirates, me dear, and one o' those standards is a certain 'naval fragrance' that takes years o' sea air and sun sweat to cultivate. I have a reputation to adhere to, savvy? Besides, 'twas a definite waste o' yer time, to be sure," he shrugged, apparently finding some humor in the situation, "I'm so filthy, I'll have me personals back to normal in no time flat."

An evil smile graced Maren's pouting lips as she slowly drew closer to Jack and he found himself involuntarily taking a step back. "What ye reckon that water is for?" she pointed to the extra basin, still steaming with hot water.

Jack took another step back, shielding Maren away with his arms, "Oh, no."

0000000

"Ooh, yesss," Jack groaned appreciatively, his head lolling back as Maren grazed the warm washcloth over his neck and down his shoulder blades. Arching his back into her kneading hands, he shivered pleasantly while little treks of cooling water slid down his torso. He practically purred.

"See, silly Cap'n? Almost done," soothed Maren, leaning down to soak the rag again, "Washin's not so bad, is it?" She held out his left arm so she could run the soap over his forearm and bicep, grazing over the trailing scars and his boatswain tattoo.

Perched in the middle of the guest cabin, Jack sat on a stool in his Muslin drawers, his feet soaking in the basin. Relaxing, he kept a contented smile on his face and his eyes closed. "On the contrary," he pointed his index finger in the air, "_Washing_ is still a wretch'd and superfluous pastime. However, _being _wash'd is a different matter entirely, would'n ye agree? A very pleasurable practice, if I may say so, and a capital engagement on the condition that the washer be a bonnie, buxom, and beautiful lass."

"I swears," she huffed, indulgently passing the rag over his sculptured chest again, even though she had already washed it thrice. She couldn't keep her hands off that lean physique! Beginning at the collarbone, Maren traced along his sternum and wrung the cloth, letting water droplets dance down his stomach. She wiped along his abdomen, every pass moving further down. Her empty hand was also pawing at his body, caressing her palm over the smooth muscles of his stomach and grazing her fingers teasingly under the hem of his drawers. His eyebrows rose in interest, but Maren ignored his dark stare and straightened out, "Ye could charm a crocodile to tears, Jack, but there's no chance in Hell ye can con yer way out o' one o' me washes."

Shuddering when Maren's breasts lightly brushed his shoulder, Jack snorted, "Still a waste. Why I had meself that bath at the Turner place not too long ago. Ca'n 'member the last time I had two baths in such close proximity."

"Ups with yer arm," she nudged his shoulder, urging Jack to obey, then began to aggressively scrub his underarm, "this be the last bit." It admittedly tickled, but Jack tried his damnedest not to giggle like a horse's arse. Maren passed the sopping washcloth over his skin, rinsing away the drying soap and grime.

Satisfied with a job well done, Maren stepped back to admire her handiwork (and the mouthwatering view). Shirtless and trouserless, Jack glistened in the lamplight like polished bronze. His body was clear of dirt and sweat, his tangled and damp hair was freed of the faded kerchief, and his face was momentarily clean of kohl. This permitted the brown color of his eyes to lighten a shade, causing Maren to peer curiously at him. Perhaps it was a trick of shadow or maybe…Maren's brow scrunched as she gently grasped Jack by the chin, turning him this way and that, all the while staring at him intently. With his hair slicked back, his eyes so bright, and that healthy glow to his skin, Jack appeared…rather pretty, to tell the truth.

Suddenly, an epiphany struck Maren and some things started to click together like delectable puzzle pieces in her mind. The dreadlocks, the raggedly clothes, the beaded trinkets, the dirt, and yes, even the kohl were not just mere decorations or expressions to Jack, they were also _distractions_- distractions from his more aesthetic elements. Jack was covering up the fact that he was a pretty boy! Well, that was interesting. Confident, arrogant, always-so-self-assured Jack might actually be insecure about something! He tried so hard to change his natural beauty into a strange exoticness, to disguise his all around loveliness for something much darker and handsome. Very interesting, another clue to hint at the enigma that was Captain Jack Sparrow…

"What?" paranoid, Jack asked. A pensive woman was usually a woman up to trouble.

"Nothin' really," Maren grinned and, noticing Jack's golden smile in return, inquired curiously, "Just wonderin' how ye lost them pretty teeth o yers."

"Syphilis."

Breath catching in her throat, the color of Maren's face paled to a foamy green.

"Jokin'!" Jack laughed and immediately had to ward off the punishing slaps and punches Maren was assaulting him with. "Oh, stop it, I was just havin' a bit o' fun. Sorry luv, could'n resist. But ye should'a seen the look on yer face- ah! Ah-ouch!" Maren's hand shot out and was mercilessly twisting his left nipple, "Ah! Oh-okay, I surrender! Have mercy! Jesus Christ, letgoletgoletgo!" she did, smirking in triumph. "I lost me ivories in a bar brawl. Some cowardly dog clobber'd me mouth with a wooden club," he shrugged, hand hovering protectively over his left pectoral, "Happy, ye hellcat?" Before Maren could make a properly snide remark, Jack wrapped his arms around her, playfully capturing her against his warm body. "Ye forgot to wash a certain somethin'," in his huskiest voice, Jack cooed into her ear and caught her hand, blinking innocently. He then proceeded to guide said hand towards the wet Muslin that still covered his nakedness, "I'd hate for ye to miss a spot."

A brassy bell started ringing on deck, causing Jack to roll his eyes and abruptly release the flushed medium in his embrace, "Bullocks."

"What 'tis it?" the disappointment in Maren's voice was all too evident.

"We're drawin' close to Carcelero," Jack was already gathering his dry clothes and throwing them on, slurring, "They need me topside."

"But Jack," Maren attempted to stop him from pulling his britches on, but not for the reasons Jack would've hoped for, "At least put on somethin' clean, after all the work I did."

Tossing his old, linen shirt over his head, Jack shrugged innocently and gestured to the hanging laundry, "Everythin's wet, sweetheart. Why that would be positively deleterious to me health, absolutely detrimental to be sure. Would'n want to catch a cold, now would I?"

"But Ja-ack-."  
"_But Ja-ack,_" teasing, he mimicked her in a most unflattering falsetto and swiftly dodged one of his flying stockings that Maren had sequentially thrown at his head. Jack stepped into his boots, knocking his heels on the floor to scoot his feet in. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his repaired waistcoat and snatched it up to inspect the buttons for himself. Each black button was tight and secure, threaded over six times alternately, like Kristy had taught Maren when she was a girl. There was also a tear in the back and a loose hem that had been meticulously mended with dainty little stitches. It was obvious that Maren had put forth a tremendous amount of effort for Jack. Smirking faintly, Jack brushed his fingers along the tiny threads.

He became of aware of Maren watching him, waiting meek and expectant. Nodding approvingly, Jack overlooked the fact that the vest was still slightly damp and put it on anyway. The happy smile on Maren's face would've put the sun to shame! How simple it was to please this woman! Hurriedly, she grabbed his kerchief and tied it around his head, while Jack held up his charmed hair. Overcoat, affects, and assorted bands and jewelry followed.

"Oh yes, 'fore I forget," three inches from the vanity mirror, Jack was reapplying his kohl. His jaw gawked open while he traced the bottom lids and his eyes fell on Maren's reflection, "Gotta close the guest quarters for proper vacancy soon. Ye're certainly not the obligatory 'guest' the circumstances should require anymore. Ye're a crewmember now, best start treatin' ye like one."

Behind him, Maren's expression grew anxious.

Shutting one eye as he moved to the top lid, Jack chuckled at Maren's concern, "No worries, pretty one. I shan't be tossin' ye to the hold to bunk with the slimy bastards I call me crew. What sort o' brute do ye take me for?" He switched eyes, "No, I have a better idea. There's a repository, more like a spacious closet really, in the stern corridor, very near me own cabin in fact. Understand, it's not much to gander at, kind o' cramp'd, but I'll have it clear'd out soon 'nough. Some old furniture in there too, so ye can store yer whatnots and other necessities. Now there's no bed, just a hammock. But that hardly matters now, does it? Ye'll not use it, considerin' ye're me official bedwarmer, since I've lost me coal tin."

It was true (at least the part about sleeping in Jack's bed; as for the coal tin, it's doubtful he ever even owned one in the first place, using the excuse of losing the imaginary coal tin to warm his chilled toes on Maren's legs whenever he damn well pleased). Since returning from Port Royal, Maren had yet to actually sleep the night in the guest cabin. She'd pass out sated and exhausted in Jack's bed and would awake, contented and rested in his arms come morning- well, there was one exception, two days ago. The night at the helm (a hot blush crested her cheeks at the memory), after her eyes were drooping and her head kept nodding off, Jack finally ordered Maren to go to bed. 'But which bed?' she had wondered. She didn't want to be presumptuous and invite herself to Jack's cabin. After all, he wouldn't be there and they hadn't technically fornicated that night. Did she have a right to expect to bed with Jack, even on nights when 'sleeping' was the only activity on the agenda?

Maren had decided to play it safe better the sorry; she slumbered in the guest chamber, but was awoken a few hours later. Clad only in trousers, Jack had tiptoed into Maren's room and quickly slipped into bed. Half asleep, Maren mistook his intention for coming and attempted to roll over and initiate some sexual play, but Jack shook his head, pressing her back down, "Hush luv, did'n mean to wake ye. Go back to sleep." Gratefully dozing back off, Maren felt the comforting heat as Jack spooned against her and whispered into her ear as a shy explanation, "My sheets were cold." Since then, Jack had made of point of 'ordering' Maren to sleep in his bed every night and warm his sheets properly in lieu of his phantom coal tin.

"Savvy?" Jack's slurring drawl disturbed Maren from her thoughts. Having finished his kohl, Jack was staring at her expectantly.

"Aye Cap'n," she said.

"Splendid," swaggering in his blatantly sexy style that made Maren's mouth water, Jack approached her and ran his hand appreciatively over her thin chemise, "Get dress'd quick, littl' laundress. Ye're to come with me and Gibbs to Carcelero for me triumphant return." His chapped lips scraped her brow in a brief kiss, then Jack abruptly spun about and left the room. The heavy tread of his boots faded down the hall.

0000000

"Walk it down, ye lazy bilge rats! First man that falls that boat, gets to court me cattails tonight!" Anamaria was bellowing at the men lowering the rowboat by pulley. Jack watched on approvingly with Gibbs next to him, who was spitting in his hand and smoothing his wiry hair down in a sad attempt at hygiene. The Black Pearl was anchored at high noon in Padre's bay, a deserted bit of land located near a farmer's road that led straight to Carcelero. Things were going splendidly. They had yet to be spotted by either peasant or officer and the weather was fair.

"Miss Anamaria," calling her over, Captain Sparrow procured a small bag of dates from his many pockets and began munching on the sweet fruit. He spoke around his full mouth, "Stay still and quiet 'till dusk falls, then sail the Pearl to the port and make harbor 'round six o'clock. Be extravagant 'bouts it, big production ifen ye get me meaning. Pick thirty men, _punctual_ men, who can be trust'd not to get too carri'd 'way. Rendezvous with me in the main square. Have we our orders?" As an afterthought, he offered Anamaria some dates.

"Aye sir," yet she shook her head at the proffered bag, "Wait here tills sunset, birth at six, thirty men to meet ye."

"Wonderful," he popped one last date into his mouth, tucking the sack away, "Have I express'd just how much I appreciate yer dependability and diligence as o' late?"

"Not half as much as ye should, Cap'n."

"Gibbs, how long shall ye require to locate Mister Izmir?" addressing his First Mate, Jack turned his face to loudly spit out a few seeds.

"Depends," the grimy pirate answered evasively and flicked one of Jack's stray seeds off his boot, "Izmir be a cranky coot, paranoid as Lucifer in a convent. Even when I finds him, he'll be jumpy 'bouts meetin' ye face to face. He be wantin' security on his terms."

"If I do'n see him personally, we do'n do business. No compromises."

"Aye sir," Gibbs nodded, "Give me an hour o' two to warm him up, pump a few drinks in the ole devil. He'll be trustin' me soon 'nough. Why we were almost kin once, did I e'er tell ye that? Aye, Izmir was briefly engaged to me second cousin, Anne, God-rest-her-soul." Crossing himself, Gibbs absently drank from his leather flask, "But Anne's brother put a stop to that, could'n stand Spaniards as I recall."

Tsk-ing, Jack ignored the incessant gossip of his First Mate and glanced about for other matters to attend to. And found one standing at the railing, Maren was bent over the edge, giggling at the water. Curious and leaving Gibbs to continue his story to thin air, Jack swayed over to the merry medium. He glanced down at the blue waters and was pleasantly awarded with the blessed omen of dolphins gathered round the hull. They were jittering and swimming about as Maren laughed and cooed at them.

"That's good luck, that is," he startled her. She jumped a little, but smiled sheepishly when she realized it was Jack.

"I think they're absolutely adorable! Ne'er seen them so close 'fore."

"Smart littl' buggers, they waitin' for us to toss the trash out, so they can pick through for scraps," explained Jack, "Bill once told me dolphins be the reincarnations o' drown'd sailors. That's why we do'n eat dolphins o' hunt them. That's also why they swim in a ship's wake, they want to remember," then added in a bit of melancholy, "I wonder if Bill counts as a drown'd sailor."

Suddenly, there was a great commotion among the porpoises. Several were clicking loudly, splashing and anxious. Some started to jump high out of the ocean and a few were spitting water from their mouths and blowholes. It might have been Jack's usually intoxicated imagination, but he thought they appeared royally pissed off. He muttered, bewildered, "Ne'er seen them do that."

"It's Kristy," sighing, Maren watched the ghost hovering above the water, making crude faces at the marine animals.

"_Come on, ye blubber-brain'd, cock suckin', sorry excuse for fishes!_" Kristy taunted them, laughing maniacally as the dolphins flailed about in agitation, "_Yer mother be walrus' cunt and yer father be a pirate's supper._"

"All set, Cap'n Sparrow," Anamaria shouted from the rope ladder.

"Very good, call the men, Madam Bosun," bellowing back, Jack tugged on Maren's elbow, "Do ye speak Spanish, luv?"

Shrugging, the medium followed Jack to the bow of the ship while Anamaria yelled at the men to 'fall on deck' for the Captain's departure, "Only the wee bit I need'd as a barmaid. 'Uno-dos-tres', tequila, 'pagame, bastardo' and the like."

"That's it?" Jack asked.

"Well," itching her scalp, Maren's voice lowered conspicuously, "Ifen I comes 'cross a Spanish haunt, I can always use the ghost as a translator."

Jack appeared genuinely impressed, "Ye can do that?"

"Aye," Maren smugly furthered, "Ye see, ghosts do'n actually _speak_ any sort o' language, that's how I understand them all. But they remember how, that's the important thin'. They remember their native tongue and if I'm there to make them 'ware o' the words being said, they can turn 'rounds and explain the meaning to me."

"Whoa," truly impressed, Jack paused, watching his crew stand at attention.

"Only trouble is I can understand the language, but I still ca'n speak it."

Waving her off to continue the conversation another time, Jack spoke grandly at his assembled men, "Gentlemen, I leave ye in the charge o' Anamaria. I trust in yer obedience and character-."

"Arr-wind in his sails!" Mr Cotton's parrot interrupted.

"-have a pleasant evenin' and I'll be seein' some o' ye soon. Now have off and get back to work, ye bile-ladden sons o' cows! Someone man them nets, there's turtles to be had in these waters! And damn it, so help ye bastards if I return and there's still garbage in the mess!" There was a great bustle and scurry as no pirate wanted to be the last man standing still. Jack turned around with the coy satisfaction that only comes with absolute unquestioned authority, "Shall we Miss Attle? Mister Gibbs?"

Both First Mate and medium nodded, following Jack down the rope ladder, into the rowboat, and slowly to the road to Carcelero.

0000000

_Translation: Pagame Bastardo! - Pay up bastard!_


	28. Carcelero

_Chapter Twenty-eight: Carcelero_

"_Bye Pearl!_" Kristy bellowed, waving from the shoreline at the shadowed silhouette of the swaying ship, "_And no worries, we shall take good care o' yer boy for ye!_"

Brows scrunched, Maren glanced from the ghost to the Black Pearl and back again. 'Sometimes I truly worry 'bouts ye,' sighed Maren.

"_Why? What I do?_"

'Really Kristy, talkin' to ships?'

"_Ye know Pet, for a medium ye're very skeptical._"

The rowboat crunched on the gritty rocks as Jack and Gibbs dragged it away from the salty tide and into the brush to be hidden. "Well then Gibbs," Jack theatrically dusted his hands off, "Ye have one hour. Merry huntin'."

"Aye, leave it to me," Gibbs rasped, "Ole Izzie ca'n be too far off. Just a matter o' shakin' the woodworks, ifen ye get me meanin'," and tapped his nose twice.

"Have to it then, mate," Jack patted him on the shoulder and thus they parted, Gibbs striding down the high road and Sparrow turning towards the low road. A few yards away, both pirates abruptly tripped over their own feet. Solid land was a harsh mistress to those with legs accustomed to the sea. Jack swore at the bitch earth under his breath, before waving Maren over. "Oh Madam Medium," drawling cheerfully, he studied Maren's posture for a moment. Her profile was facing him and she was staring intently at an empty space half a dozen inches or so above her head. To any unfamiliar onlooker, she would seem simply a pensive woman, stealing a moment to herself, quiet and daydreaming, but Jack knew better. She had that _look_ on her face, a _look_ Maren probably wasn't even aware she was making. It was a subtle affect, miniscule really, and it had taken Jack some concentration to even notice it in the first place. There was the slightest widening of her eyes, the way her pupils dilated just a little, and that stare that could be described vaguely as 'blank', but that would be an inaccurate description. She wasn't staring at nothing; it was if she was staring 'through' everything and into nothing-something…whatever, Jack wasn't learned in these sorts of matters, but he was getting there. At that moment, he knew by that _look_ that Maren was communicating with Kristy.

"Kristy must've been one tall bird, eh?"

"Pardon?" Maren blinked and the _look_ completely vanished in an instant, then she focused her attention on Jack.

"Kristy," he repeated in a slur, the gold of his teeth protruding, "Lofty bit o' skirt, am I right?"

Ghost and medium exchanged curious glances. Maren's head cocked to the side in confusion, "How in the world-?"

"Ye stare _up_ at her," Jack furthered, bobbing his own head forward to demonstrate, "when ye 'talk' to her."

A brown eyebrow arched, interested in Jack's scrutiny of her, "Do I really?"

"Only a littl'," he procured his graceful fingers with a smidgeon of space between the index and thumb, "Very subtle."

"Well ye hit the mark, Cap'n. Kristy stands 'bout half a foot 'bove me. She's got an inch on ye too. But what God made up for in stature, He lack'd in substance. We reckon I probably would've outweigh'd her by two stones, in life o' course."

"Mm," he made a noncommittal snort in the back of his throat and started meandering down the road, pausing to let Maren follow and catch up with him. He strolled with his hands clasped behind his back and his face upturned towards the clouds. There was a certain nonchalance to his walk, a casual _je d'esprit _in his gate that was comical and comforting at the same time. "Ye've yet to explain to me in what matter our dear Kristy depart'd from the world of flesh and blood," conversationally, Jack said while plucking an offending leaf from a passing branch and watching childlike as it floated on the breeze, skipping and flying to the ground.

"Ye askin' how she died?"

"Aye, for curiosity's sake, luv, humor me."

There was the tiniest silence as Jack noticed the _look_ flit briefly over Maren's features, then she smiled, "Kristy instructs me to inform ye that she stopp'd breathin' and subsequently expir'd thereafter- where we goin' anyways?"

The sudden change of subject was not lost on Jack, but he decided to let it slip for now, even though his famous curiosity was making his moustache itch. Who would've imagined the issue of a ghost's demise to be one that was _faux pas_? But for the moment, there were other matters that required his attention, "When ye dream'd that bastard Barbossa's, _god-damn-his-soul_, memories, did ye happen to catch one that involv'd a dungeon, some Spaniards, lots a convicts, some torture maybe?"

"I do'n think so," shaking her head, Jack delighted in the way Maren's long braid swung to and fro when she did that particular action and had to suppress the juvenile urge to pull it. Instead, he made a mental promise to pull it later, to wrap it around his hand and tug her head back, slowly yet roughly…to expose that lovely throat and open her mouth in a helpless gasp…to use the end and tickle the most delectably sensitive spots on Maren's peach skin…he coughed, blinking the excellent image of Maren and the many helpful functions of her hair aside. 'Stay on subject Jack,' he chastised himself. "Would've been in his youth? No? Nothin'?" Maren shrugged and Jack waved it off, "Well perhaps I should caution ye then. The ruins we are 'bouts to tour are none other then the original fort and prison of Carcelero. Barbossa spent one year," and Jack paused to properly emphasize the dramatics, "of his boyhood here. Needless to state, it was a singularly volatile time for him. When the Portuguese and Spaniards sank the Alpha, they mercilessly execut'd every pirate survivor still in the water. Not that any pirate would've expect'd mercy from a sailor, but still a jackarse thin' to do, to be sure."

A warm breeze danced across the dirt path and Maren noticed that the foliage and brush was growing thicker and unkempt the further they traveled. Her stomach felt sickened just from the mention of Barbossa's name. She kept seeing him bent over poor Bill, taunting him, or ordering Jack's abandonment and sensing that lusty enjoyment as he watched Jack disappear overboard. She could almost smell his rotting flesh, forcing her to grimace. Jack took notice of her restlessness. "I only share this with ye for insurance purposes. Last time somethin' remind'd ye o' Barbossa ye were possess'd by him. I imagine it best to avoid such an episode, savvy?"

"No worries," squaring her soldiers, Maren's voice was so sharp with confidence it could've cut glass, "I _know_ that son o' a bitch now. He ca'n be sneakin' ups on me no more."

"_Aye,_" behind them, Kristy rolled her phantom eyes, biting out sarcastically, "_and I suppose ye'll be doin' this all by yer onesies? No help from ole Kristy whatsoever?_" But there was no real venom to her bitching, because the dead woman was presently distracted by Captain Sparrow's firm arse while he sashayed along. She tilted her head to the side for a better angle under his overcoat.

"Kristy be on her toes too," added Maren, primarily to stop the ghost from complaining. And as much as it was disconcerting, Maren had to ask, "How did Barbossa survive the attack on the Alpha?"

"He was permitt'd to live," absently reaching his arm across Maren's waist, Jack tugged her to his side and welcomed the warmth of her, "They spar'd him, because of his age, ye understand. Pirate o' no, killin' a boy is a task no Naval man be keen on. He was all o' thirteen and was the last member of the Alpha crew left alive. Incarcerat'd at Carcelero, in the blackest oubliette with the most nefarious criminals o' the Caribbean- well, let's just say it is most definitely evident where Barbossa acquir'd his madness from."

A breath of pity sparked in Maren for the poor boy Barbossa had been in his memory, the bright-eyed youth who had served Captain Romulus with such unabashed adoration, but it was quickly replaced by the sound of Barbossa's cold laugh as Jack was overpowered in the throws of mutiny. No, no room for mercy in her heart, not for that monster. Not when she had experienced the depth of Barbossa's evil soul herself, "He was releas'd after a year?"

"Not quite, he _escap'd_ after a year," Jack's head nodded to stress his tone. "Start'd a fire as I recall and disappear'd in the sequential chaos. Personally, I always suspect'd it was more o' a suicide attempt rather then some brilliant scheme for exodus, but damn'd ifen that devil would ever admit somethin' like that," he whispered conspiratorially and winked.

"_Hey Pet._"

'Aye?'

"_Borrow a shillin' from Jack._"

Confused and almost dreading the answer, Maren turned her face to glance at the ghost over her shoulder, 'Why?'

"_Cause I wanna see how far it bounces off that tight bum o' his,_"Kristy drooled.

'Honestly, Kristy!'

"_Christ, what an arse!_"

0000000

"And here's where I best'd a dubious, young lieutenant and eight o' his men, all arm'd with pistols and swords, layin' in wait for yers truly. Did I mention they were all in excess o' six feet in height? No? Well they were, bloody giants the lot o' 'em," bouncing from stone floor to the rotting wood of a haphazard set of stairs, Jack demonstrated with arms outstretched towards the horizon, "All the while, there's the Black Pearl, swimmin' akin to any shark and pulverizin' the livin' hell out o' the armaments. It pain'd me sorely to be apart from her durin' such a climatic engagement, but unfortunately, 'twas unavoidably necessary. I requir'd skill'd swordsmen for me plan to head four different groups. There was me, Bootstrap, _may-his-mum-spit-on-his-grave_-Barbossa, and Mister Warwick, otherwise known as Wart. Fine fencer, but impossibly ugly. Lost a leg on that very night, end'd up marryin' a blind woman if I remember correctly, happily ever after, so on and so forth. God bless Wart, good man."

The colors of the abandoned fort were all boney grays and decayed browns like the canvas of a corpse. Little still stood of the once notorious Carcelero, the guardian of the Caribbean Sea. Chipped stones still pillared at the corners of rooms with no walls or ceilings. Weeds grew through the cobblestones and hearths still stood, lopsided and tipsy. The overall foundation remained, scorched from a fire, and several wooden beams still managed to bear unseen weight. The so-called 'Prison Guard' was but a forgotten skeleton now.

Normally Maren would've found the scenery rather depressing; however, with Jack skipping around, narrating a hundred words a minute, enthusiastic and excitable, Maren couldn't help but be swept up in his adventures. She genuinely loved listening to his many epics and anecdotes, the endless lilts and slurs and bellows of his smoky pallet always hypnotizing her into a stupor. Kristy enjoyed them too. Of course, considering that she couldn't eat, drink, or fuck, Kristy was forced to seize upon any sort of entertainment that presented itself, whether it be 'pirate buggery' or 'pirate story time'.

"_Wait, I be confus'd. Was Bootstrap's lot still scalin' the wall?_" chewing thoughtfully on her fingers, Kristy glanced around as if the answer could still seen on the battlements.

"Kristy's wonderin' what happen'd to Bootstrap and his team," Maren spoke up for her. Upon arriving at the ruins, it had become quite apparent that Jack's only viable purpose for bringing Maren out here was to show off and squander an hour's time. Somehow, Maren found it very endearing when he was trying to impress her.

If it was even possible, Jack's face lit up even more, his grin stretching from ear to ear. While the majority of his tall tales were well appreciated in generic pubs and interchangeable taverns by strangers, they were usually avoided by all costs by his mates and friends who were familiar with his propensity to exaggerate and his tedious ramblings. But not _his_ Maren, not this delightful, attentive, young woman who would stare at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed for hours on end! Jack had a very long list of things he liked; 'the Black Pearl' and 'a full bottle of rum' topped the list of course. ('The smell of his mother's clothes' and 'lullabies' were also high on the list, but there were certain things that pirates just didn't admit to.) In fact, the miraculous combination of 'helm and head' had been recently added, though separately both concepts were already listed in the top twenty. Being 'the center of attention' was in the top ten and 'women/the various activities one can perform with women' were in the top five, yet this category would waver between third and fourth place depending on when and how hard the last lass had slapped him. In short, Jack craved a woman's attention. It complimented his ego quite nicely and, truth be told, reassured him of his own…interestingness. A pirate couldn't afford to be boring or _god-forbid_ mundane!

It was also becoming painfully obvious that the girl was desperately in love with him. Which granted, had potential for complications, but was not without some personal benefit. Love and loyalty were an inseparable set of virtues that could profit his sense of security. Since the mutiny, Jack had yet to actually trust anyone, not one-hundred-percent at least. He couldn't completely trust young Will not to do anything stupid. He couldn't trust that sod Norrington to take the bloody boats back to the Dauntless and wait patiently for the bleeding pirates to come out of the cave, and _he_ was _supposed_ to be a man of honor for Christ's sake! And Elizabeth! He trusted her enough to fall asleep (pass out) next to her and what happened? She burned the rum! If that wasn't the most textbook example of betrayal, then Jack didn't know what was! Now the actions of Anamaria, Gibbs, and the rest of the crew had admittedly shocked him when they had returned to save him from the Port Royal gallows, but that still didn't mean he could absolutely, completely, one-hundred-percent trust them. How many times had Barbossa saved his neck in their assorted past, only to play Judas to his Jesus when the opportunity presented itself? No, trust was not something Sparrow would misplace again, but there was potential in Maren.

Jack had already innocently inquired on the pastimes of the Black Pearl's only resident ghost and was devilishly thrilled to discover that Kristy spent most of her time observing the men. Consequently, she was privy to every scrap of gossip and event that occurred outside of the Captain's eyesight. This phantom eavesdropper was the ultimate insurance policy. What mutiny could possible stir while the men were under constant unseen surveillance? To add a delicious layer of safety to his newfound security was the assurance that the medium in charge of informing him on any insubordination was loyally and utterly in love with him. It was so good to be so clever!

Still, his plan was not without some degree of risk. Just as love and devotion coincide, hate and treachery were bosom buddies as well. It was all a matter of keeping Maren happy, keeping her in love, which in all honesty, might be a little more difficult then Jack originally supposed. After all, his record with happy women was not a stellar one. But of course, he had never had any personal stake in a woman's contentment before.

Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't care for Maren. Jack couldn't deny he had a certain, strange…_affection_ for her.

He liked the girl…

…liked her a lot, truth be told.

His musings snapped back into reality and he grabbed Maren by the wrist, tugging her along and down a fallen hallway. "Look-see here, sweetness," Jack raised his arms and hands to indicate a ceiling that was no longer there, "Imagine if ye will, a storage space between floors right here, a perfect place to crawl into from the outside and sneak behind enemy lines. That be where ole Bill and his boys were lyin' in wait. See, back here," and Jack leapt into what was essentially a hole in the ground, "was a stronghold. Weapons, supplies, and stonewalls would guarantee that the Spaniards could hold out for 'nother two days if need be, mayhap even three. That would've been long 'nough for reinforcements to arrive and would've been assuredly disastrous for the overall success of my master scheme." Theatrically pointing in one direction, Jack explained, "So Barbossa's got the east flank," he pointed in the other direction, "and I'm pushin' forward from the west. The last organiz'd Spanish resistance is bein' herd'd here, to retreat in the stronghold. But 'fore they can dig themselves 'way like the rats they are, Bootstrap and his lot leapt down form the ceilin' and cut them off. Some impressive swordplay and combat ensue and _voila_," Jack literally posed, "An immediate and unconditional surrender was pronounced." Maren and Kristy applauded.

"As for the Pearl," like a gunshot, Jack was up and running across a grassy clearing and up the crumbling fortress walls. "She had sustain'd some damage while shootin' down these wooden lofts that connect the wings and armaments. See, o'er here? Knock out these crossovers and all movement in the fort stops, savvy? A couple cannonballs tore through her hull, but she was still in good shape. Wart was the one takin' out those bloody canons…" he bellowed back at her.

"_He runs like a sissy,_" snickered Kristy, before floating quickly after Jack. Straying behind and listening to the continuing saga of 'the sack of Carcelero', Maren strolled along the empty land and caught up at her own pace. It was a surprisingly peaceful little patch of ground in the middle of such dank ruins. Green grass stretched and smelled sweet under her feet, unperturbed except for the single standing doorway that loomed innocently at the end of the clearing-

"_Hey! Hey miss, come here, o'er here!_"

Slowly, Maren glanced at the ruined doorway. It was dark inside, though the room that it lead to no longer existed, so there technically shouldn't have been an 'inside' to darken. Still, it was covered in shadow, curious and foreboding, but empty. Yet even as Maren stared, brow knotted and eyes squinting, a shape became apparent in that mysterious blackness like someone approaching through a silver fog. It was clearly a man, hunched over as if in hiding, "_Hullo Miss._"

Immediately, Kristy was at Maren's side, "_Pet!_"

'I sees him,' she watched the figure jerk when she used her power and his face rose. He had heard her, probably the first understandable sentence he had heard in a long while and, though she couldn't see it clearly, she knew he was smiling. A flash of sunlight reflected against his eyes, making Maren shiver, "_Hey miss, do ye know where the key is, miss? Fetch us the key!_"

She ignored him, turning about to continue across the path-

"_I know ye can hear me! Miss! The KEY! Give me the damn'd key!_"

Sighing, Maren stopped without looking back at him, 'I do'n have the key.' Sometimes a little explanation could move a ghost along-

"_Lyin' whore! Give me the fuckin' KEY!_" –and sometimes it didn't.

"_Here lassie, lassie, laasssiee,_" another one had joined the figure at the door. This one was bolder; it kept attempting to lean outside, but would turn away from the light at the last moment, hissing all the while, "_I like lassies, so pretty, so nice. I'm nicceee._"

"_Please!_" a hand thrust up from the ground, startling both Maren and Kristy. It waved frantically back and forth, clawing helplessly at the air. On closer inspection, Maren saw that the grassy clearing was not empty at all. Skylights covered in iron bars lined the empty space on the ground and as two more ghostly hands started reaching through, Maren realized she was actually standing on the prison. It was underground! "_Please, 'twas an accident I swear. I ne'er touch'd the gel!_" the owner of the first hand pleaded.

Maren didn't think it wise to tell him she knew he was lying.

"_The natives be restless,_" kicking harmlessly at an offending hand, Kristy nodded, "_We should leave. There was nasty business here._"

"_Laassiee-_"

"_Please, they let the rats at us at night!_"

"_The key o' I'll cut ye…_"

Terrible screams arose form one of the grates, so hysterical it was barely recognizable as human. There were gurgling sounds too, heavy breathing, whispers-

"_-the rats! Their teeth, they gnaw on us at night!_"

A third specter, much older then the others, appeared at the door and its eyes glowed a foreboding yellow in the darkness, "_…**get**…**out**…_"

Uh-oh…

A brief warning to all those who might discover themselves in a similarly unfortunate situation, the ghostly term 'get out' should always be taken very, very seriously. Consider it the equivalent of a pistol being cocked between one's eyes. It is the 'end all', 'last word', 'don't you dare fuck with me' of the supernatural world. Usually, Maren was not one to argue. Ghosts who say 'get out' are always very old, very _aware_, and always very hateful, but harmless if left alone. Most were not worth her time or effort. Only once had she deliberately defied a 'get out' and the ensuing conflict had knocked Kristy clear back into her haunting place. That time it had been worth the peril, the spook was four-hundred years old and had become _violent_. She was nine years old then and still living back in London on the Low East, and still harboring the incredibly naïve belief that her gifts were some benevolent blessing to use for the benefit of mankind. How things change…

Abruptly, Maren spun about on her heel, deciding it best to leave these demented spirits to their suffering, and shrieked in surprise when she collided soundly with Jack.

"Whoa, careful now," grasping her by the elbows, the pirate noticed the minute shrinking to her pupils and the pale pallid of her skin. He had been in the middle of another more-or-less-accurate description of his victory celebration (pillaging and plundering) in Carcerlero's lucrative port, when he became suddenly aware of Maren's total lack of attention to his person. Instead, she had been watching the prison courtyard intently, ignoring his babbling, which was rude and intolerable in Jack's stalwart opinion. But now watching her, startled and a tad breathless, Jack grew concerned. His dark eyes skittered around the clearing, but of course he saw nothing. "Come on sweetheart, Gibbs'll be waitin'," he tugged at her elbow and wrapped a secure arm about her shoulders.

"Bad things happen'd here," she whispered as they walked away, allowing the ghosts' wails to fade.

"_Oh God, the rats!_"

"_Bitch! The key, we need the key, cunny whore!_"

"_Oh shut up and stick it where yer uncle did!_" Kristy screamed back, though they couldn't hear her.

0000000

The apothecary's was a small veiled shop in Carcelero's port. Stacks of fresh herbs and colored bottles were perched atop wooden shelves that lined the gray walls. It was a dry, dark place, yet impeccable clean, much like its owner; a withered, tan old woman who walked with a limp but her hands were steadier then any surgeon's. As the old apothecary weighed some dried cuccos leaves, her husband sat anxiously at a heavy table. His eyes would drift from his eldest son by his side to his youngest son behind the curtains. Absently, he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and readjusted his hold on the firearm under the table.

Kristy snorted loudly, before turning about and sticking her head through the wall into the street outside where Jack, Maren, and Gibbs waited. "_There's a lad behind the curtain to the far wall with a sword, mighty firm thighs too. The ole fellow's got a pistol under the table and there be 'nother bloke with a knife tucked 'way behind his back, and what a fine backside 'tis too! Not too bad in the face either. Oh and also an ole woman, but she do'n look not half-interest'd,_" she reported.

Maren relayed this information to the two pirates, except for the mention of thighs and backsides.

"I warn'd him 'bout the weapons," sighed Gibbs, sneaking bewildered glances at Maren for the miraculous trick she just performed. Somehow he thought communicating with dead would be more 'mystical'.

"Terrible ole world, innit?" Jack swaggered to the door, slurring all the way, "Ca'n even trust a traitor to deal some honesty into his criminal dealings. Honestly, how rude." Wrapping at the door, Jack hollered out, "Good day to ye Mister Izmir. I've with me Mister Gibbs with whom ye are familiar and one Miss Attle, both unarmed. I am Cap'n Jack Sparrow and, as always, possess on me person one sword and pistol. Ye may keep yer firearm if it thus secures your sense of safety. Nonetheless," and Jack's voice dropped to a growl, "yer two men shall immediately and hastily disarm themselves and may I suggest the fellow behind the curtain present himself properly o' we shall not do business on this day, savvy?"

From inside, Spanish mutterings were heard, punctuated with a few bumps and clamors. Jack grinned. How had he ever managed this job without a ghost handy?

"Enter por favor, Cap'tain Sparrow," a voice in accented English called out.

Thrusting the door open, Jack strode into the strange-smelling shop and beamed at the four inhabitants. The sword and knife were in plain view on the table and Izmir had his gun tucked into his belt. "Forgivie'ness please, sir," Izmir's hands circulated as he struggled with his words, "But such times as _th_ese…" he shrugged. "Might I ques'ion on how yu knew the h'appenings of my shop?"

"No," was Jack's simple answer. Three potted plants very close to where he sat distracted him for a moment. They consisted of several celery-like stalks that sprouted fluffy green leaves. Why Jack hadn't seen this particular shrub in years, not since his mother's had withered! Mindfully, he touched his brow to the lady apothecary who ignored him in favor of her cuccos leaves, before he took the one seat before the table. Glancing around, Maren awkwardly wondered what she was supposed to do with herself since no one in the room gave her a second glance. She decided to stand next to Gibbs by the door and tried her damnedest to appear intimidating.

The retired Spanish gunner and the pirate studied each other in silence for a while. Izmir had a long white scar that ran lengthwise down the left side of his haggard face and his smile was even more golden then Jack's. The man was stout but well muscled with silver hair. Finally, Jack spoke to him, curtly and to the point, "I do'n see any maps, Izmir."

"I do not see any payment, Cap'tain Sparrow," he snapped back just as quickly.

They kept staring at each other.

Wordlessly, Jack reached into the breast of his overcoat and removed a weighty sack. When he tossed it onto the table, it clinked in the delicious way that only cut gems can manage. An overwhelmingly gold smile spread over Izmir's face and he waved one of his sons forward. The eldest scooped up the coarse sack, ripping it open, and glared carefully at the contents. Pinching one green jewel in his fingers, he held it up to the candlelight. The orange glow leaked and bounced through the stone perfectly. Izmir's eldest son nodded.

Now the apothecary was finally paying attention to the events in her shop and when her son nodded, she dusted the bits of soil from her hands, reaching under her counter where a leather satchel had been secured. The old woman limped over to Jack, handing the package over with a grunt. "Gracias Senora," Jack positively purred while he tore open the satchel and thumbed through the parchments inside. For many minutes, he was silent, holding up the papers to the light, comparing ink stains, studying the handwriting and assorted signatures. He even tasted the paper, though what he could've been checking for was beyond Maren. At last he seemed satisfied, "I trust that Commodore Cruz will not miss these documents and change procedure accordingly?"

Something about Jack's question made Izmir and his sons laugh. "Beg yur pardon, Cap'tain. I aszure yu, _th_ese papers will not be miszed," clearing his throat, Izmir's lips straightened, "espe'sially by Commodore Cruz who has been, shall we say 'relocated'?"

"His sheer incompetence finally did him in, then?"

"Unofficially."

"Under whose directory has la Cabra Robado been 'unofficially' assign'd to?"

Izmir frowned, "Cap'tain Sandoval."

"The Bastard?" Gibbs gasped from the door, startling Maren.

"Si," answered the old gunner, never taking his eyes from Jack.

"Fuck," striking the tabletop with his fist, Jack absorbed this new dilemma, "I thought he was brought up on charges. Insubordination and disobedience and let's not forget murder?"

The old man shrugged, "Dismiszed."

"Me arse, 'dismiss'd," Jack tucked the pages that detailed the Spanish Fleet's routes into the satchel, "What the devil is the matter with the world's navies these days? Two-hundred years 'go they would've hang'd him on the spot, no questions ask'd."

"No sir," Izmir corrected, "Two-hundred year' ago, he would have been a Conquistador."

"No shit. Ne'er mind it, I suppose it ca'n be help'd now," standing, Jack respectfully shook Izmir's hand, but before releasing him, Jack stared him straight into the eye and grinned manically, "If these papers turn out to be forgeries o' ifen ye tip off Sandoval, I wo'n go after ye," Jack's eyes fell on the two sons, "I go after them. Understand?"

Slowly so Jack could see his sincerity, Izmir nodded and the pirate abruptly released his hand. "Excellent," he was cheerful again, holding up a ringed finger, "but one more thin', if ye please. Oh Senora?" Addressing the apothecary, Jack flirtingly leaned against her counter and spoke in fluent Spanish, "Have my senses taken leave of me or is that perchance silphium on the shelf over there?" He waved to the three plants that had caught his attention earlier.

The apothecary's lips twitched and she nodded, her eyes darting briefly to Maren, "The Captain has a sharp eye for botany. After all, this specimen only comes from Europe and does not grow in the wild anymore."

It was a testimony to Jack's charisma that one of his saucy winks still made an arthritic, old woman blush like a maiden. "My mother had four when I was a child," he drawled sexily.

"Four?" the apothecary seemed taken aback, but this time she was fully and toothlessly smiling at him, "Tell me, was your mother truly in need of such a surplus amount?"

Leaning in closer, he whispered, "Abundantly." She cackled in the carefree way of old women everywhere who know to take laughs when they can get them. "I would like to purchase one of your hearty silphium, if you would be so kind?" Jack really caught her attention then.

Her white eyebrows rose, "Surely the Captain is aware that silphium," she spoke carefully, "is worth its weight in gold?"

"Agreed," his hands disappeared into his assorted pockets and produced five gold crowns. Tactfully, he placed them in front of the apothecary, blinking innocent. Izmir and his sons watched intently as the apothecary stared at the gold coins and snorted.

From the door, Maren also watched curiously while the old woman hobbled over to her many shelves and picked up a strange shrub. The conversation between Jack and the apothecary was a mystery to Maren, since it far excelled the extent of Spanish she knew, but it appeared as if Jack had purchased a plant of some sort, an extremely _expensive_ plant of some sort. The old woman limped right past Jack and huffed her way to Maren instead. "He'e," the pot was unceremoniously shoved into her arms and Maren struggled to understand the woman's broken English, "Lissen senorita, yu pick stalk, yes? Take leaf's off stalk. Dry leaf's. Boil stalk in water. Take water an' make _th_e tea with dry leaf's. Every week yu do _th_is, si?" Maren became aware of everyone in the room looking at her expectantly.

"Uh," she managed, "all right."

0000000

"Reckon we gots littl' over three hours 'til the sun goes down and Anamaria brings the men," from around his neck, Gibbs procured his trusty flask, "So what shall we do to kill time 'til then, Jack?"

Appearing thoughtful and wicked, Jack literally started twirling his moustache.

"Jaa-ack," Maren whined, still glaring at the stupid shrub in her arms, "What she give me this for, eh? It's not even pretty!"

"That," Jack said, never losing his devious expression, "is goin' to prevent the inopportune arrival o' any clairvoyant littl' Sparrows."

"What the devil-," things abruptly clicked in Maren's head, "-oh, thanks, I guess."

"_Us'd a sea sponge meself. Minds ye, 'tis a messy business removin' the damn thin' and you could'n always keep it clean-_."

"Trust me, me mum swears by it and who'd know better then 'Madame Diamanta' herself?" Jack was using his incubus smile again, trailing his hands up and down Maren's arms and cooing in her ear, "Maren, somethin' I've been meanin' to ask ye. Have ye and Kristy ever play'd…cards?"

0000000

_Silphium: ancient Greek medicinal plant. Unlike most oral contraceptives of the time, this one claimed to be preventive. The plant was so well used it is extinct now._

_Translations- Carcelero "Prison Guard"_

_Cabra Robada "The Stolen Goat"_


	29. Cacho!

**Important Author's Note:** The Haunting Place has returned censored and semi-clean. I still defend my writing; no one can convince me that I'm any worse then Danielle Steel and her stuff is available in the public library for crying outloud! (I'm ranting, I'm sorry, I know it's childish of me and don't get me wrong, I still have a lot of respect for and appreciate everything the mods do) I've decided to repost on because I have so many readers here and let's face it, the Story and Author Alert options kick ass!

**Important Censor Note: **However, I will not change one page of my plot line for anyone, so this is what I'm gonna do: The explicit chapters in which _actual _sexual contact occurs will simply consist of a brief summary of the chapter's plotline and a chapter teaser. Those who wish to read those chapters should visit www. mystifyingdreams .com or www. adultfanfiction .net (I'm not saying these sites are any better then they're just different and variety is the spice of life) Keep in mind, the Haunting Place is still rated a strong R even with the deleted chapters.

**Warning:** Mature themes, bad language, and drug use…why do I even bother with a warning when the people who should read it never do?

_Chapter Twenty-nine: Cacho!_

To Valdez's great delight, the stupid Englishman arranged his cards in order of suit rather then face value. At least he was reasonably sure it was suit over value after watching the man lose three hands in a row. Across from him, an inconspicuous scratch to the index finger alerted him that the Lieutenant thought so as well. Either way, the sorry fact that this simpleton would error so grossly as to publicly arrange his cards was like blood in the water to a card shark such as Valdez.

"Whoops," the sloshed sailor fumbled with his last card and it slipped from his grasp, dropping to the table. The withered card landed facedown, so it was still in play, but alas for the unfortunate drunkard, Valdez's sharp eyes caught the pointed corner of a Valet's cap and the black of a Cup. Seeming to fidget, he tapped his fingers upon the table in three-eighths time and signaled to the Lieutenant what he'd seen.

"R-aise," the Lieutenant spoke with one of those charming Spanish accents that teased and flattered the English language, rather then actually soiling the pallet speaking it. The Lieutenant, or 'el Teniente' in his native tongue, was not referred to by his real name while in this particular pub, patronized by foreigners and gamblers. In fact, he wasn't supposed to be there at all, especially in uniform. It wasn't that the Spanish Navy opposed the many vices housed in the 'Ole Nun', understanding that with sailors certain sins must be permitted. It was the other patrons that the Navy forbade contact with.

Since the decay of Portuguese influence in the New World, Spain had enjoyed a generation of unchallenged trade routes and profitable monopolies, a lucrative commodity that it guarded jealousy. However, that was before the modern British Navy. A century in the making, the English fleet was virtually undefeated in open waters and the Spanish had not won a single major naval battle against the British for fifty-some years. While the Spaniards were confident in the security of their territories, they were not so assured about their precious trade routes, which had already been disturbed by rampant pirating. The sack of Carcelero twelve years ago by the Black Pearl had been devastating. And as is often the case with sinking ships, the rats scurried forth; ergo, a surplus amount of corruption swelled the ranks of the Spanish Navy.

It was said that a Spanish officer would sooner accept a bribe then obey an order.

In desperation to smother the raging fire of bribery and crime, the Spanish fleet enforced a strict code of ethics upon their officers, 'Do not do business with, socialize, or otherwise sustain any sort of relationship with any foreigner, lest you be poisoned against your own countrymen.' This especially referred to Englishmen, the Portuguese, and to a lesser extent the French. It also didn't work.

Case in point; the Lieutenant's hobby of visiting the 'Ole Nun' and conning many a foreign man from his purse with the help of his civilian partner, Valdez, was overlooked by his superiors as long as he wasn't too flippant about rubbing elbows with the enemy. Currently, they were using subtle hand gestures and a partially marked deck against a blatantly homosexual Portuguese merchant who seemed to know he was being cheated, but was too enamored with the Lieutenant to care, a brutishly big Georgian man who was most definitely a fugitive of some kind, and last and most probably least, the stupid Englishman that arranged his cards according to suit.

"Ummm," the kohl eyed man picked his teeth indecisively, "I…call." Seeming to regain his inebriated confidence, he proudly produced his hand and was only swaying slightly, "Admittedly not a monumental gambit as far as the history o' strategic games o' chance go, but me high card's the Valet o', wossaname? What the hell is that thing? A bowl o' some sort?"

"A cup," Valdez supplied helpfully, while the others laid down their cards.

"Aye that's what 'tis," Smith beamed, ("Or Smithy if ye like," he had stated enigmatically upon introduction), "A cup! Valet o' Cups. How clever this game, er-."

"Cacho Senor," Valdez continued, "_D_e game is called _Cacho_."

"Oh did I win?" curiously, he glanced around at the other hands, "Is this not the high card?"

Valdez was hard pressed not to laugh at the Englishman's stupidity. "I _am_ sorry, Senor," he spoke English for the benefit of the stupid man, "but in _d_e Spanish deck, Knights are higher _d_en Valets. It seems _d_e officer has won."

"Muy bien," Gomcallo, the Portuguese merchant attempted to flirt with the Lieutenant and pat his shoulder, but the Lieutenant simply gave him a-very-cold-stare. Gomcallo abruptly removed his hand.

"Lucky you," the Colonial man, Reed, said as if 'good fortune' was the farthest thing from his mind. Valdez's gaze flickered to the Lieutenant and they both silently agreed to take no more money from the Georgian behemoth. After all, just because a bull is dull-witted does not make death by mauling any less painful. Besides, the ignorant Mister Smith seemed to have enough money to satisfy them and was too blissfully inebriated to realize he was being cheated, or to even be upset by it.

As the Lieutenant started shuffling the deck, Smith pouted into his mug of mead, slurring, "Ca'n seem to get the hang o' this _Cacho_. Damn Spanish deck, all Cups and Swords and the like. Bloody daft, if ye ask my opinion."

"How for-chu-net, we d_i_d not," the Lieutenant answered, lyrically and clipped. Absently, Gomcallo licked his lips.

The cards were dealt among the misty haze of the smoke-filled pub and the general bluster of many sailors making up for a sea's voyage worth of celibacy and sobriety. Again, the daft Englishman arranged his cards and actually stayed in the game for three raises. Such an imbecile! Reed and the Lieutenant folded and Gomcallo called. Valdez was the only player who had a hand of any substance, a modestly low cacho in the suit of Clubs. The tinkle of coins clanking together was heaven to his ears as he gathered the pot towards himself.

"King o' Swords!" Mister Smith flippantly procured his cards, not only tardy but loudly, though everyone had already caught a glimpse of them while had turned his back to absentmindedly hail down the barkeeper for another drink, "Highest card, right?"

"Si," this time Valdez let a snicker slip through, "But as you can zee, I have a cacho." He presented his three same suited cards.

"But they're low," Smith tried to protest, "and not even straight."

"Cachos always beat high cards," even Reed was tiring of Smith's antics, "Now shut your windpipe, you're slowing the game!"

"I'm sorry to be sure," humphed Smith into his mug again.

Gomcallo smiled indulgently, while taking his turn to shuffle the cards and speaking in broken Spanish and English, "El Teniente, I no catch tu name, por favor?" Apparently, the Portuguese merchant enjoyed a certain amount of romantic abuse and seemed dead-set on setting his cap on the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant ignored him, but Gomcallo kept at it, "Such a…how you say? _Humid_ nocha, si?"

Just as the Lieutenant was about to answer with a thinly veiled threat, a terrible commotion clamored over the general hubbub. The crooked door of the Ole Nun crashed open as a busty blonde came bellowing into the tavern, her eyes flashing and chest heaving, "Jack! She was an attractive enough tart, with deep blue eyes and pretty flushing cheeks. Drunks and prostitutes alike jumped as the newcomer stormed across the pub, earning several glares from the whores who thought their customers were paying a little too much attention to the blonde. All cacho players watched as this miniature Valkyrie stormed over to their table, whining terribly, "JAA-AACK! Ye cheap bastard Jack, I've been waitin' near on two hours for ye to fetch me and what I finds! Ye playin' cards-."

"_Smith_," corrected Mister Smith, hissing importantly, "O' Smithy, right dove?" He abruptly made a conspicuously obvious motion with his head around the table. Now really! Valdez couldn't keep his eyes from rolling. Why did smugglers always think they were so clever? Honestly, who did he think he was fooling?

The fuming woman was temporarily confused, blue eyes darting at the tables occupants and finally settling on the uniform of the Lieutenant in delayed realization, before quickly regaining some of her previous temper, "Er, right _Smith_. Where were ye, eh? Ye promis'd to buy me some satin knickers, but ye ne'er show'd. Ye be a despicable miser, that's what ye be!"

Valdez and the Lieutenant raised curious eyebrows at each other before immediately imagining what this attractive tart would look like in satin underthings. It was a promising fantasy. Reed wiped at his mouth and chortled in a less-then-friendly manner. And of course, Gomcallo flustered a bit when he noticed the Lieutenant was showing an interest in the new arrival.

"Gentlemen, may I present," Mister Smith's voice lilted in some private mirth, "Missus _Smith_." He chuckled to the blonde woman and winked in an all too evident way.

But the lass's tirade wouldn't be swayed so cheaply, "Jack, ye son o' a bitch. See ifen ye can suck yer own cock tonight, 'cause I-."

No sooner had she made her threat, then a gold chain suddenly appeared in Smithy's decorated hand and he immediately surrendered it to Missus Smith.

The woman shut her mouth, eyeing the dangling trinket critically.

"Oh, I love it!" the necklace seemed to have the desired effect, when the curvaceous beauty abruptly threw her arms round the Englishman's neck and squeezed and squealed with all her might, "Ye spoil me so, Jack! It be so pretty, I shall ne'er take it off! Ooo, just waits tils I get ye 'tween me sheets. Ye're not gonna walk straight for a month, I swears it! Jack, ye makes me so happy!"

"-sm-ith-," the man muttered between the smothering pillows of her cleavage, his face turning blue.

'What a way to go,' was the shared thought of every man at the table, save maybe Gomcallo who was now trying to bat his eyes at the Lieutenant.

At last, Smith pried himself away from the chocking grasp of his enthusiastic 'wife', tugging her eagerly onto his lap instead, "Come have a sit, pretty bird. Me luck's to shite and I could use some 'cheerin' up', ifen ye get me meanin'." A small thrust of his hips almost de-seated the bonnie occupant. As if suddenly feeling the burning stares of his fellow Cacho players and being quite annoyed with them, Smith absentmindedly turned and smirked at the table, "Who's up to deal?"

Reed blindly reached for the cards, shuffling and dealing, but never taking his sights off the pretty strumpet as she slipped the trinket on over her head. The golden necklace draped like sweet honey around her slim neck and four pairs of eyes drifted down to where the chain delightfully pressed between her presented breasts. She seemed pleased by this effect and dropped her lids to half-mast, very slowly kissing Smith in sensual appreciation.

"Ye are truly beautiful. Exceptionally, hauntingly, all-consuming-ly beautiful," the Smiths were enraptured in each other, hands stroking and petting immodestly even though they had an audience to their amorous liaison and Smith's cards lay forgotten upon the table.

"How ye flatter me, sir."

"I want ye, I want ye so badly it hurts."

"Then ye shall be havin' me."

"Ye wearin' yer red stockings? My favorites?"

"Only one way to finds out."

"Have I communicat'd the urgency to which I desire to fuck ye?"

"Senor!" Valdez exclaimed in shock. It wasn't that Valdez was prudent by any stretch of the imagination, in fact he was rather fond of impropriety, but the English couple foundling each other so publicly right in the middle of one of his fixed card games was too much even for his risqué taste. How was a man to properly cheat another drunken, stupid man under such circumstances? Forcing himself to speak in a quiet and calm manner, Valdez motioned to Smith's cards, "_D_e game, if y_u_ please?"

"Aye, o' course the game," as if only remembering their persistent presence and as if being incredibly inconvenienced by it, Mister Smith picked up his three cards, sighing in his smoky drawl, "Let's have a look-see, shall we?" However, Missus Smith seemed un-persuaded, since she was still nuzzling his neck and nibbling in a teasingly flirtatious manner.

_Two tugs on the gold hoop, one lick along the shell of his ear…_

"I raise, half a crown."

This time Valdez couldn't hide his smirk. The stupid Englishman stayed in the game for two more raises and he barely was paying any attention, having been totally preoccupied with his groping, little strumpet. Perhaps this situation was working out to Valdez's and the Lieutenant's advantage. The Lieutenant started fiddling with the badges across his uniform, signaling to Valdez that he had nothing and neither did Gomcallo, who had been 'accidentally' showing his cards to the Lieutenant in a pathetic hope to woo the officer. 'How sad these Portuguese men,' Valdez thought with no real sympathy.

Valdez only had the Knight of Swords, but decided to call anyway. After all, Mister Smith barely even knew the rules of the game. What were the chances of-

"King of Coins," Mister Smith raised his face up from his woman's neck, where he had been thoroughly licking her pretty collarbone, to present his hand, "Highest card right?"

"Si," the Lieutenant glared at Valdez for making such a foolish mistake as expecting a lone Knight to take the pot.

"So I win, savvy?"

"Si."

Well, it was probably for the better anyway, since allowing the Englishman to win one small pot would make the duo seem less suspicious.

"Congra-_chu_-la-_sh_-ions," attempting his best 'good-for-you' face, Valdez patted Smith upon the shoulder, mindful to avoid touching the whore in his lap. Not that he didn't want to tough her of course, but Valdez was a smart enough fellow to know that when a man is that in love with a woman as to ignore a card game and a mug of mead, that man is most definitely just as violent in protection of her. Best not tempt the devil. Gathering the worn cards, Valdez smiled and shuffled, "See Senor? Very easy, _d_is cacho is."

"I feel me luck's finally blessin' me with her fine presence," Smith's blurry vision landed right back on Missus Smith like a weathervane in the wind, "Thanks to me lucky charm here. Ain't that right, sweet lovely?" Abruptly, he kissed her in a sudden frenzy that stunned the onlookers, pulling back her head to subjugate her and reveling in the sounds of her surrendering mewls.

Reed snickered again and leered in lusty approval as Smith's hand squeezed the right cheek of the whore's backside.

"Very well," shrugging and sharing an astonished laugh with the Lieutenant, Valdez decided it best to ignore them and continued dealing the cards. If the Englishman wished to fornicate at the table, well so be it. As long as Valdez could cheat the man, what did he care?

His present hand had potential. Valdez examined his cards, giving one up in hopes of drawing a card in the suit of Swords, which sadly turned out to be the Two of Cups. Luckily, the Lieutenant itched his pinkie three times, signing that he had been dealt a cacho, so all was well. Valdez remained in the game for two raises for the soul, villainous purpose of driving up the pot, before folding in the last round.

Meanwhile, the two lovers were relentlessly 'involved' with each other, arms stroking and tongues tasting. The smell of expensive perfume and cheap rum wafted off the couple and Valdez couldn't help but to concede that it was a very erotic smell indeed. Every now and then, they'd stop to whisper some steamy declaration into the other's ear.

"Me darlin', me darlin', please do'n stop," she cooed in a wispy alto that made Smith shiver in ecstasy. Flashing her fantastically white teeth, she bent her head to kiss him once more.

_A wet kiss pressed against his Adam's apple, a nip at his whiskered chin…_

"What the hell? Count me in for one crown!" Smith's voice lilted in his hoarse, yet musical manner.

"Call," Reed tossed his cards into the table, having received nothing for an admirable attempt at bluffing.

"Ca-," the Lieutenant had barely uttered this syllable, while procuring his hand before-

"Cacho!" Smith cut him off, laying his cards down coyly and trying his damnedest to keep his eyes from crossing when Missus Smith slipped her hand under his linen shirt and started toying with his abused nipple. "And I believe my cacho arrives at the sum of eleven. That's how it's decid'd, right? Aah! Sweet Jeh-sus luv, I sees ye, ye naughty gel. Daddy Smith's playin' a card game. Wo'n ye be a good lass and settle down for a moment?" Smith had to interrupt himself when Missus Smith latched onto his chest and sucked upon breastbone until she marked him with a purple lovebite. She giggled playfully, relenting for the moment. Smith cleared his throat in a no nonsense manner, "When two cachos are present'd, the highest sum of cards is the victor? I thought so. So what do you have there Mister Lieutenant?"

"Ocho," the Lieutenant was losing temper. Letting the oaf win once was bad enough, but the indignity of permitting this tramp a second hand was intolerable. He could feel himself itching under his uniform.

"Eight, eh?" Smith let his head fall back as his woman started sucking at his throat, but never strayed his eyes from the Lieutenant's flashing ones, "Tough luck mate. Ye need to find yerself a lucky charm of yer own. Nice littl' senorita with long lashes and quick hands." To which Mister Smith snatched the deck and quickly began shuffling, his hands moving suspiciously fast for a drunken man. The strumpet in his lap seemed unmoved by the preoccupation of her 'husband' and continued to wiggle her hips in an incredibly distracting way.

Something wasn't right and the Lieutenant was willing to bet his left nut that it had something to do with that woman in Smith's lap. Very convenient how Smith managed to win twice after her arrival, but how was she cheating? If she was indeed cheating then she was damn good at it. There were no obvious tricks that he could see and the Lieutenant knew every trick in the book. It was _their_ marked deck for crying out loud and the woman wasn't even playing a hand of her own, so they weren't playing doubles like Valdez and the Lieutenant were. So maybe…

Decisively, the Lieutenant knocked over his mug with his elbow.

"Oops," allowing the mead to splash upon the floor and the tankard to follow with a clatter, the Lieutenant shrugged in his stiff uniform as if to say, 'aren't I the butterfingers?' and knelt upon the ground to retrieve his fallen mug. Overhead, Smith made some obnoxious joke about the Lieutenant 'not being able to hold his drink', like that stupid lush was one to talk about holding liqueur! For the first five minutes of the game, the idiot kept laying down his cards and shouting, 'Bingo!'

The Lieutenant glared in the dim light under the table at the twisting legs of the Smiths. He noticed with some interest that the Englishman was working his thigh between the whore's legs and that she was wearing black stockings, not red. However, what the Lieutenant really needed to see were her boots, but she kept rubbing her calves and ankles along Smith's and her many skirts kept hiding them within their folds. How annoyingly inconvenient! In frustration, he grabbed her right ankle, ignoring her cry of indignation, and searched her boots for mirrors. He was positive they were using mirrors, it had to be!

There were none.

But now there _was_ a very prominent pistol in his face and Mister Smith, bent over and glaring at the Lieutenant.

"That leg," and Smith paused to cock his weapon, "is _mine_."

Wordlessly, the Lieutenant released his hold on Missus Smith's ankle and slowly removed himself from under the table. This immediately appeased Mister Smith who abruptly disarmed his gun and tucked it away, returning his attentions to his 'wife'.

Valdez glowered at the Lieutenant, wondering what in hell had made his partner decide to grope another man's woman while she was in the embrace of said man. Resolutely, he snatched up his cards. His nerves were starting to fray. Not only was Mister Smith totally insane, but now it seemed his lunacy was rubbing off on his partner. What should have been an easy con was becoming annoyingly difficult. Still, after checking his hand, Valdez realized the night was still salvageable. He had been dealt a cacho to the sum of twelve right off the deck and Mister Smith had even been the one dealing! Who could accuse him of cheating now? Careful to keep a stone face, Valdez chewed on the cuticle from his left hand's index finger, signaling to the Lieutenant to raise the pot as much as possible, because he was pretty certain he had this game sacked!

Speaking of sacked, Missus Smith was pushing the boundaries of not only decency, but also _in_decency, by straddling Mister Smith in wanton abandonment. The Englishman could barely see the table over her shoulder, but he didn't seem particularly bothered since his face was buried in her awesome cleavage anyway. Her hands were scratching at his back, while he did wonderful things to her bosom.

Let them do as they will, Vadez decided. This lucky hand was going to win back the two pots he had lost form that stupid, drunken git-

_A finger traced the fine curve to his spine and a hand clasped and pulled the bone in his hair…_

"I fold," Smith proclaimed cheerfully and discarded his hand, in favor of grabbing the bottom of his whore with two fists.

Fold!

"Que?" Valdez shouted, perhaps louder then originally intended, then quickly darted his head under the table, checking their shoes for mirrors and belatedly realizing what the Lieutenant had been up to while grabbing the woman's ankle. "But y_u_ did not even draw a card," raising himself up to the table again, he said half-accusingly, "Y_u _can draw a card, remember Senor? Y_u _can draw a card before _d_e first raise, _d_en fold on _d_e second. For Santa Maria's sake, it is not _d_at damn difficult to play Cacho!"

Nevertheless, Mister Smith was ignoring Valdez's whines, finding the gentle squeeze of his lover's thighs much more distracting. "I'm sorry, but I shall have to pass upon this game and partake in the next," to which, Smith immediately set to work sneaking his hand up Missus Smith's petticoats.

Sensing that Smith just might know something they didn't know, Reed and Gomcallo folded as well. Apparently, no money was to be had and an excellent hand was completely wasted.

The Lieutenant made a mental note to locate this bastard smuggler's ship and personally make his stay in el Carcerlero a-living-hell. After all, a Spanish officer could be a very expensive and time-consuming problem for a merchant ship with questionable cargo.

Valdez wanted to shoot that self-assured smirk off that son of a bitch's face. "El Teniente, deal," he growled. The mockery of losing two hands and wasting a twelve cacho on some fornicating buffoon was infuriating. And the sorry fact that the prickless dog had the nerve to sit there and sport with his strumpet only rubbed salt into the wound. Valdez-Would-Not-Be-Ignored! Somehow, somewhere, someway he was going to tear this Englishman a new one and-

and that 'somewhere, somewhere, someway' was just dealt to Valdez.

Providence was kind! Christ was merciful! And thank the God of Scandals!

Because in his manicured hand were three cards, the Valet of Cups, the Knight of Cups, and (Valdez's hand actually shook as he revealed his last card) the King of Cups! A straight cacho, all face cards, was the highest cacho possible. This was the type of hand that men prayed for!

Unfortunately, that tell-tale shake of Valdez's hand hadn't gone unnoticed by the other players. Reed vehemently swore and threw his cards down, "Fold and bugger this damn game. Fucking Spanish bullshite!"

Gomcallo looked apologetically at the Lieutenant before quietly calling, "Fold."

The Lieutenant seriously considered putting a bullet through his partner's head for making such an amateur mistake. There was no way the Englishman was going to stick with this hand now.

Meanwhile, the Smiths were quickly on their way to all out fornication, only with more clothes then was usual. Mister Smith had arisen to his feet, setting his squirming woman upon the table and upsetting everyone's drinks and coins. He bent over her, mouth sealed over her searching lips and squeezing her backside and bust at leisure.

"Senor Smi-_t_," listlessly and already dreading the inevitable 'fold', the Lieutenant asked, "A_r_e y_u_ _i_n?"

_One fair hand glided down to his stiffening member and squeezed…_

"Raise five crowns!" the Englishman shouted in a raspy cry, grabbing her hand to still her assault and staring at her with such an intense heat, that even Gomcallo had to wave himself off with his hand to cool his collar.

Raise! Five crowns?

Suddenly, both Valdez and the Lieutenant were extremely grateful that Smith's whore had come along. Smith had been too distracted to notice the lapse in Valdez's stone face. Not only that, but apparently he was too distracted to even look at his cards! Valdez would've kissed her had he not been certain that the stupid smuggler would've shot him for it.

"I w_i_ll see _d_at and raise ten crowns."

"As w_i_ll I," the Lieutenant had every intention of bankrupting the fool.

"Oh what the hell? I've got a bed to hurry off to anyways," as if deciding he had more pleasurable pursuits then gambling, Mister Smith pushed all his gold pilings into the middle of the table, after setting Missus Smith down of course. "Shall we finish this," his eyes danced with some dark merriment and Valdez had the sudden foreboding feeling to forfeit.

But that was crazy! He had a thirty-sum cacho and Mister Smith hadn't even _looked_ at his cards yet. By why the devil did this man look so confident?

"Agreed," Valdez forced himself to say, glaring at Missus Smith who was smirking at him over Mister Smith's shoulder, while she pawed at Smith's sleeves.

"Agreed," the Lieutenant grinned, not picking up on the bad vibe that Valdez was. Knowing full well that Valdez's gambling's didn't equal that of the Englishman's, the Lieutenant added his stock to his partner's. Now they were ready to call.

Then the Lieutenant noticed something that made his stomach turn to bitter lead.

The whore, in her wanton petting of Mister Smith, had tugged upon his sleeve and revealed a tattoo of a bird above ocean waters.

Sparrow…

"Madre de Christo," he gasped under his breath.

The sharp ears of the supposed Mister Smith caught the curse and his swift and suddenly sober eyes followed the stare of the Lieutenant down to his coppery forearm. A wicked smile graced his lips and he resolutely tugged his sleeve down and winked at the Spanish officer.

Unfortunately, Valdez hadn't noticed the exchange and probably wouldn't have recognized the tattoo even if he did, but alas, he was too absorbed in his impending victory over the _very-stupid-Englishman_. "Call," Valdez permitted himself a terribly self-satisfying laugh at Smith's expense, "Face cacho. Such sad luck y_u_ have my friend. Better for-_ch_une next time-."

"Three sixes," Smith drawled, enjoying the woman nibbling his finger and sliding his thumb over her lips. He stated plainly, "I win."

For a moment, there was an eerie silence around the table. Even the smoke cleared a little as if to make room for trouble.

In his temper, Valdez jumped from his seat and probably would've launched himself at the bastard had the Lieutenant not leapt forward to restrain him and, in doing so, most likely saved his partner's life.

"Why," Gomcallo spoke up, in admirable awe, "I d_u _believe y_u _won, sir."

"Damn," was Reed's educated response.

"Indeed," gathering the gold to him and reveling in the delicious chorus of coins clinking together, Mister Smith slurred, "Three sixes be the highest hand, beats everythin' else. _All_ good Cacho players know that, they do. After all, easiest fuckin' game there is. Would'n ye agrees, _senors_?"

Enraged and in dumb denial, Valdez stared at the three sixes on the table to the strange man, back to the three sixes and to the man again. He finally glared suspiciously at the woman hanging off of 'Smith's' arm and running her fingers through the gold coins in a seductive caress.

Three sixes, the sign of the devil, three sixes.

And for some inexplicable reason, Valdez just _knew_ that the devil in this scenario was her.

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"Did ye see the look on that bastard's face!" Jack guffawed down the street, arm wrapped around Maren's waist. He enjoyed the warm breath of her infectious laughter against his shoulder and the way the night air pinked her cheeks, "When ye 'accidentally' expos'd me tattoo? Christ, that was priceless! Almost piss'd his trousers!" A quick nip from his rum bottle and the Captain was laughing hysterically again. One or two tears of pure mirth fell from his eyes.

An average night in the slums of the port city of El Carcelero was always an active one. Sailors and merchants were busy and about, searching for fun and sinful ways to spend their earnings. Prostitutes and salesmen were also on the move, searching for easier ways to take those earnings. The street was a bustle of moving bodies that smelled of drink, sex, and greasy food. It was no Tortuga by any stretch of the word, but Carcelero had enough vice to stand on its own.

"And when he grabb'd me leg and ye pull'd that pistol on 'em, I almost cav'd, Jack, I really did!" she giggled so hard, she couldn't breathe and it honestly started to hurt her stomach; but she couldn't stop, not when Jack was laughing so hard it bordered on lunacy. "By the way, ye randy prick! Ye went a littl' o'erboard, when I was givin' ye the signals. I do'n cares to be done o'er in the middle o' a card game, savvy? I be so embarrass'd, I shan't e'er return to the Ole Nun as longs as I lives."

"But they were such delightful signals," Jack guffaws settled down into smoky chuckles, "A kiss there, raise. A scratch there, fold. A grab for me sociables, go for broke. How was I to resist? Especially the latter, ye ca'n expect a man to keep his head when a bonnie lass is keepin' his other head in her equally bonnie hand."

"I still ca'n believe I strok'd yer whatnots in the middle o' a pub," Maren added, accusingly, "And ye be hard too. Ye were gettin' off, Jack."

"Could'n help meself," he swayed as he walked, forcing Maren to tilt as well.

"Kristy says," Maren hushed her voice, but the whisper threatened to pool into hysterical laughter again, "that the Yank was sportin' a stiffer too. Ain't that positively vile? Imagine that giant gettin' all itchy watchin' our wee show. Yuck!"

"I noticed yer delightful blush ne'er crest'd yer delightful cheeks," Jack teased, "Could'n have been too embarrassed."

As if on cue, Maren's skin turned a coy pink and she snatched the rum bottle, hiding her discomfiture behind a drink. "I be actin'," she defended her modesty, "Would'n do to have a 'whore' blushin' o'er a littl' public display o' affection."

"Promise me you'll ne'er lose that blush, sweetheart," noticing a tipsy passerby on the busy street, Jack's quick hands snatched a pipe he had been admiring from the man's pocket and quickly popped it into his mouth. He patted his pockets for his tobacco and tinderbox, "I adore that blush too much to e'er see it gone. Promise me no matter how debauched I make ye, no matter what sick vile things I talk ye into, that you'll ne'er stop blushin'."

"Ca'n hardly help it anyways," Maren of course blushed more and Jack groaned in appreciation. In her graceful arms, Maren clasped a large purse with the winning pot jiggling merrily as they walked. She held it tightly within her white fists, glaring suspiciously about for pickpockets. Of course, she needn't of worried. Any wandering eyes of a passing thief first noticed the winking grin of Captian Jack Sparrow as he pointedly flashed them his pistol.

"Normally," puffing up importantly, Jack lit his new pipe, "I'd take a sixty percent cut seein' how I'm yer Cap'n and all, plus I had to instruct ye on how to cheat proper. But as a sign o' good faith 'tween the two o' us, we shall split the take fifty-fifty, savvy?"

"Ye means in threes, _Cap'n_," Maren corrected, drawing his title out in a seducing tease that always stirred Jack up.

"To hell I do-," Jack's tirade was cut off.

"Kristy be wantin' her even share too."

"Poseidon's prick, what ye mean _Kristy_!"

"Aye," sticking her nose high in the air, Maren snorted, "She had an equal part in the con, an essential part really, and she wants her share o' the profits."

Dumbly, Jack glared at the empty air around him, as if he could spot Kristy and ask her himself if she was daft or drunk. "She's bloody well _dead_," exasperated, Jack flailed his hands about, "What's a bleedin' ghost gonna do with a third cut!"

The _look_ fleeted briefly over Maren's features, while she listened to the dead woman. "I'm to find two rentboys," Maren recited, "one pretty and the other handsome and hire them to bugger each other at great length."

Not being able to help his juvenile sense of humor, Jack snickered at the pun, "Huh, _length_," before clearing his throat and gaining some control over himself. "Why would Kristy want ye to do that, eh?" he asked, interested in spite of the fact it was going to cost him part of his cut.

"Kristy likes to watch, especially beautiful men at it."

A very, forbidden and not altogether unpleasant thought arrived in Jack's quicksilver mind. "Does," and Jack's voice rose in sheer mock-innocence, his eyes blinking big and brown, "she e'er watch us?"

"Eew!" the medium grimaced, "Ne'er! That be repulsive, she's like me kin."

"Pity," Jack muttered under his breath, "would've been a hell o' a turn on."

"What?" snapped Maren.

"Said, 'Was'n that fellow a moron?" not missing a beat, Jack covered his tattooed arse, "That Spanish card shark, what a twerp! Thinkin' he can cheat Captain Jack Sparrow with a partially mark'd deck and a couple hand signals? Pah, what a fool."

A commotion of some kind was barely visible at the east gate of town, yet it still caught the corner of Maren's eye. Slowly, the entire mass of pedestrians noticed some sort of foray in the hidden darkness outside the town limits.

Suddenly, a universal and eerie quiet fell over the entire slum section of Carcelero, something was happening on the far side of the port. It was the queerest effect, the rising swell of panic that spilled from one end of the street to the other, like some invisible tidal wave spreading foreboding. At the far end, shouts were heard and ringing bells and sounds of various alarm rang out, and as one, the entire occupants of the busy street started pushing forward as the shouts were becoming audible. They were beginning to hear, in their native Spanish:

"Run to your homes!"

"Head for the hills!"

"The Black Pearl!"

"Pirates!"

"Leave the city! Run!"

"The Black Pearl! The Black Pearl is in the bay! Sparrow has returned!"

"Capitan!" Sparrow bellowed over the growing hubbub, but no one was paying him any attention, "That's _Capitan_ Gorrion, ye daft bunch o' peasants!"

"So what now?" having to shout over the rambunctious mob, Maren stood on her tiptoes and thought she glanced the face of Morty Muerto on the far end of the crowd, the largest, at six feet nine inches, (but also surprisingly gentle) pirate of the Black Pearl's crew.

"Now we pillage and plunder and don't give a hoot," Jack sang happily.

"Oh," Maren was jostled by the crowd and Jack had to keep his arms about her to keep her close, "Suspect'd it'd be somethin' like that. So what shall we pillage and plunder first then?"

Jack smiled and because no pirate could've resisted such an obvious invitation, lowered his lips to hers and claimed her mouth for himself.

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_Translation: Capitan Gorrion- Captain Sparrow_


End file.
